Teknet Trilogy Two: Can You Hear Me Now?
by OughtaKnowBetter
Summary: Second of a trio of loosely connected stand alone stories. Someone wants to replace Daniel in SG1. Previously published elsewhere. Story complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: you know the routine

A/N: this is the second of a loosely connected trilogy. Each story works as a stand alone piece.

* * *

Can You Hear Me Now?

By OughtaKnowBetter

* * *

"Did the mission proceed as planned?"

"Not completely, lord." The First Prime fell to his knees, conscious of the honor his lord was bestowing upon him by speaking directly to him. "The off-world mission didn't last long enough to ensure that your plan could be carried out to success. However, several of your other objectives were accomplished."

"Elaborate, First Prime." The Goa'uld's eyes glowed. Literally.

* * *

Colonel Jack O'Neill watched as Airman First Class Eric 'Beaver' Deavers cleaned up after SG-1, scraping the leavings of dinner into the fire and stowing away the dishware. He leaned back on his elbow, aware of Teal'c walking the perimeter of the camp, weaving in and around the trees that seemed to be a fixture on 90 of all the worlds the SG teams visited. O'Neill suspected that guard duty would be more of a formality on this deserted planet of PX-487 but he hadn't lived through this many missions on that many planets by neglecting the formalities. Who knew what could come out of those honkin' big trees that surrounded them? He himself would be taking watch a bit later tonight, as would both Major Carter and, as AFC Deavers was rapidly becoming known, the Beaver.

Not, however, Dr. Daniel Jackson. While it was common for O'Neill to decline Daniel's offer to stand a watch—"Washington wants what's between your ears, Daniel, and that doesn't work so well when you don't sleep"—on this particular mission he had another reason: Daniel's foot was swollen to nearly twice its usual size.

Which was an improvement. It used to be three times as big, courtesy of a misstep into PX-487's version of a gopher hole.

The Beaver turned out to be as good a medic as Carter, splinting Daniel's ankle and applying cold water from the nearby stream until the joint decreased to its present configuration. His opinion, echoed by Carter, was that Daniel had sprained it, which was the only reason why O'Neill didn't cut the mission short. That, and the whining that he knew would follow from the archeologist who was already annoyed at being unable to see the ancient stone writings up close and personal, was what decided the colonel. As long as the pair were reasonably certain that the ankle wasn't broken, Daniel could stay. It helped that for a change the Stargate wasn't located several miles from camp. There it was, a great circle of metal, stars gleaming around it and only a few hundred yards from their present position. If something nasty came at them, any one of the four could drag Daniel kicking and screaming to the Gate in one hand and fire off a P-90 in the other. In the meantime, Daniel would be confined to doing the heavy supervising.

The Beaver helped out there as well. Deavers' undergraduate degree was in anthropology, and to everyone's astonishment was picking up Goa'uld as a second language in record time. With Daniel unable to do more than hobble about on make-shift crutches, the Beaver took over the task of photographing and recording the images that they had found on PX-487 to bring back to the SGC. It was Daniel's opinion that they had found the remnants of an extinct civilization, and the specialist had hopes of discovering something that would assist Earth to defend themselves against the Goa'uld.

"He's good, Jack." Daniel rested against a convenient boulder, watching the Beaver set up a tent for the night. "He let me know that he's been taking some on-line courses at night, some sociology and anthropology stuff. I've looked over his papers, and they show real insight. I think I might recommend to General Hammond that SGC spring to send him on for more schooling full time. If he's this good at this level, think of how valuable he'd be to the SGC after graduate school. We can use all the Goa'uld experts we can get. There aren't very many of us, you know."

"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't mind seeing him move up the military chain of command. He's no slouch in that arena, either. And us team commander types aren't exactly crawling out of the woodwork, either." Jack joined Daniel in watching Deavers erect the tent with a minimum of wasted effort. The canopy was already standing, and Deavers was pounding in the last stake, seeming to give himself a one man competition as to how few strokes with the hammer it would take to send each spike into the hard ground. O'Neill doubted that Teal'c could do better. Deavers was one of the few Earth-bred humans to match Teal'c for size. And O'Neill had seen Deavers work out; he was certain that Teal'c could best the Beaver, but it wouldn't be a pushover. Bets would be won and lost on that contest.

Was there anything the airman couldn't do? Why was he only a lowly AFC? O'Neill would have to see that oversight rectified. Daniel deserved at least a sergeant to look after him, if nothing else. _Gotta keep up appearances_.

The 'looking after' part had been General Hammond's idea from the start. There had been a few too many missed deadlines recently due to a surfeit of papers flying around a certain office, and a certain computer in that certain office crashing a few too many times. Dr. Jackson wasn't computer-illiterate, but priorities had to be set: he could either decipher the ancient writings coming in on almost a daily basis or he could learn the proper care and feeding of a PC. The writings won, and General Hammond assigned this bright young airman to be Dr. Jackson's personal batman. The Beaver's responsibilities included backing up Dr. Jackson's computer documents on a regular basis, getting him to meetings on time, and making sure that the scientist consumed his recommended daily allowance of calories. So far it seemed to be working. Hammond was pleased.

O'Neill reflected on the conversation that he and the General had had.

"You're spending far too much time babysitting, Colonel," had been the opening salvo. "SGC doesn't need you to be making sure that a grown man takes care of himself."

"Yes, sir, but this is Daniel—"

"And you're Colonel Jack O'Neill, ex-Black Ops, the man who led the original expedition to Abydos." General Hammond cut him off. "Those medals that you don't bother to wear mean something, Colonel. We have recruits coming in who need your military expertise, men who will be going through the Stargate to other new worlds and whom I expect will be returning in one piece as often as is humanly possible. I can appreciate your desire to look after your team, but here at Cheyenne Mountain that task needs to be delegated to someone who isn't needed to train newcomers. And that goes for both Major Carter and Teal'c as well. I'll expect you to inform them."

Which was how Daniel acquired a personal assistant. He had objected at first, but the Beaver had demonstrated an eagerness to learn that had appealed to the scientist. Little bit by little bit Deavers won Dr. Jackson over. It didn't hurt that Deavers had a cup of coffee waiting for Dr. J. every morning upon arrival, and a second cup soon after. Fresh grounds, too; none of the commissary mud that passed for a caffeine pick me up.

Jack wasn't quite certain how Deavers had managed to tag along on this mission through the Stargate. Deavers' role was supposed to have been only in the SGC itself. But two months and a couple of hand-to-hand matches later with Jack himself—Deavers was big but O'Neill wasn't about to trust anyone on his team that he didn't have first hand knowledge of their skills—and the personal assistant added the task of off-world bodyguard to his job description. Which made SG-1 one of the few teams of five.

No, not exactly, O'Neill corrected himself. This was still the military. SG-1 had become a team of four, with a civilian specialist tacked on. Having one of the four designated to watch over the civilian specialist made O'Neill's life easier: he didn't have to assign anyone to the task. Someone to pick up after Daniel, and to pick him up when he fell. No more wondering which essential chore would go uncovered by Carter or Teal'c because Daniel needed watching. Deavers was already there. O'Neill himself could get back to the more important job of running the mission.

"I could see him rounding out another SG team," Daniel continued, oblivious to Jack's thoughts. He adjusted his leg on top of his backpack. Deavers had insisted that he elevate it, to help reduce the swelling, and the pack was the most comfortable alternative. "Give him enough time to complete a bit more schooling, and I'd recommend him any day. He'll be as good as Rothman. Or me."

"Better." Jack looked at Daniel out of the corner of his eye, one edge of his smirk quirking upward. "The Beaver is military. He takes orders, Daniel."

Daniel refused to rise to the bait. "And he's much better than I am at self-defense," he acknowledged ruefully. "I'll bet you're not worried that he'll shoot his own foot off."

"Now, Daniel, what ever gave you that thought? Your ankle is only sprained. Not shot up. Speaking of which, how much longer do you want to stay in this forest paradise? Not that I'm trying to rush you, but…"

Daniel sighed. "How about heading back late tomorrow? I should have enough data to work with by then."

"Hah. You mean Beaver will have taken enough pictures so that Himmelmann doesn't growl when we get back."

"Yeah." Daniel held out his cup. The Beaver, always alert, refilled it. The smell of unadulterated coffee drifted out into the night, strong and dark. "Thanks, Beaver."

O'Neill frowned. "Haven't you had enough for today? How many cups is that? Four? Eight?"

"I'm cutting back, Jack." Daniel sipped gingerly at the hot liquid.

"Not today you weren't. Every time I looked, Deavers was giving you a refill."

Daniel shrugged. "At this point, I think I'm immune." He yawned. "I also think I'll turn in. See you in the morning, Jack."

"'Night," Jack echoed. Deavers was right there, helping Daniel to rise awkwardly to one foot and hobble into the tent that they shared. O'Neill covered a smile. Oh, yeah, but having Deavers around was good for a certain colonel's blood pressure.

* * *

"Janet—" Daniel tried to complain.

"You heard me, Daniel." Dr. Janet Frasier wasn't taking any guff. "A week on crutches or I'll put a walking cast on. Here, lie back."

"Why?" Daniel allowed himself to be pushed back onto the gurney. He eyed the nurse beside Dr. Frasier suspiciously. There were boxy scanners all around him, but all were currently silent, waiting for some undeserving soul to put them to use. Frasier had a cart full of bandages that she had just finished using, had taken a sturdy wrap from the cart and applied it to his ankle. Now Frasier took up several white patches and started applying them to Daniel's chest. Daniel looked down in dismay. "What are you doing? Aren't you finished with my ankle?"

"This doesn't hurt, Daniel. I'm taking an ECG." Frasier helped clip the electrodes to the patches on Daniel's chest.

Daniel scowled. "I hurt my ankle, Janet, not my heart. You took an ECG last week."

"And I'm taking one now as well. Christine felt a slight irregularity in your pulse just now. I'm checking it out."

"Never knew Goa'uld snakes caused heart irregularities," Daniel grumbled.

"They don't, and you know that very well, Dr. Jackson."

_Oops, getting formal. She must be getting annoyed_. Time to shut up. Daniel lay quietly, waiting for the machine to finish printing out its incomprehensible squiggles. He could hear O'Neill in the cubicle next door, putting his clothing back on and clattering something to the floor as he banged into his own stretcher after his own post-mission physical.

O'Neill poked his head in. "All set, doc? Can I return Daniel to his keeper?"

"Not quite, colonel. Dr. Jackson, I am putting you on a caffeine restriction."

"What?"

"You heard me. I am looking at your heart rhythm, and it is telling me that you are on caffeine overload. That stops as of today."

"Janet—"

"No buts, Daniel. Look at this ECG." Dr. Frasier pushed the pink paper in front of him. Daniel sat up to take a look, O'Neill peering interestedly over Frasier's shoulder. "I'm seeing a lot more in here, but the easiest way to tell what I'm talking about is to look at these tall spikes. Every spike represents a heart beat. They should be in a very regular rhythm."

"Okay…" Daniel hoped what he feared wasn't coming.

It was. "Look at this run of spikes. Not even, Daniel. Irregular. A few beats here and there are coming early. Medical terminology: premature atrial contractions. PAC's for short. Translation: caffeine is making your heart do the tarantella. Keep it up, and your heart will run the marathon without you." Dr. Frasier wagged her finger at the archeologist. "Tell that assistant of yours that you are now on a low caffeine diet. I'll let you have up to two cups of the high octane stuff per day, but the rest will be de-caffeinated. Colonel O'Neill, will you make sure that Airman Deavers gets the message?"

O'Neill grinned. "_Oh_, yeah." He held out the crutches, a much better looking pair than the tree branches they had scarfed together on PX-487. "C'mon, Daniel. Let me help you hobble back to your office that Deavers is cleaning up even as we speak. How can you let the place get that messy while you're not even in it?"

"Left-overs, Jack. Left-overs."

* * *

The First Prime abased himself before his god. "Lord, let me but know your wishes and I will kill myself to carry them out."

"That will not be necessary at this time," the Goa'uld informed him. "It is my wish that you continue as you have done. This subterfuge, though tedious and long, will advance my plans." Teknet waved his hand around the small apartment. There were dirty dishes everywhere, and clothing dumped onto the floor. The Goa'uld was not a polite house guest. "Clean these chambers, First Prime, while I go among these Tau're and meditate upon my next step." He paused, his eyes briefly glowing. "How many of these Tau're are competent in reading Goa'uld?"

"Only four, my lord, including Jackson. I do not include the shol'va, Teal'c." The First Prime spat, to show his contempt for the renegade Jaffa.

The dark eyes glowed again. "It does not please me that so many Tau're can decipher the holy Goa'uld script. They profane the language. It is only Jaffa, and those that I favor with my mark that should be knowledgeable."

"I look forward to the day that I may openly wear your symbol, lord!"

"Yes," the Goa'uld commented, "you do. For now, seek ways to diminish this number of four while searching for my missives. But do it secretly. You must not reveal yourself at this time."

* * *

Daniel inhaled the aroma gratefully, hands cupping the hot mug and steam rising. His office had never looked so tidy, his papers never so caught up on filing. And there was an almost full bag of fresh coffee grounds in the closet. Daniel was used to seeing the quantity as two levels: almost gone and completely gone. "I don't know how you do it, Beaver, but this de-caffeinated stuff tastes as good as the real thing."

Deavers grinned. "All in how fresh the grounds are, Dr. J. That, and never washing out the coffee pot. My grandmother used to threaten my grandfather with a wire scrub brush, so he took the percolator and hid it in the barn. I used to sneak out there whenever I visited him, and he'd share a pot with me. Tasted great on some of those cold winter mornings."

Daniel leaned back in his chair, taking another sip. For a change, the wheels of the chair didn't crunch on papers that had fallen to the floor and not been retrieved. Another blessing. "Where was home?"

Another bright-toothed smile. "Vermont. Little place outside of Barre. Cold as PX324, but a great place to be a kid. I learned to ski almost before I could walk. Now I've got a place not too far from here, a little cabin in the woods. Best place to get away from it all and relax on weekends."

"And the interest in anthropology?"

The Beaver ducked his head shyly. "A bunch of North American Indian artifacts all around where I grew up, mostly the Lenape tribe. Kinda whet my interest, so when it came time to choose a major in college, that's what stuck. Heck of a lot better than cranking out solutions to physics problems. Numbers and me aren't the best of friends."

Daniel smiled in sympathy. "I hear you. But, the military?"

"What can you do in the real world with a degree in anthropology? _'Join the army, go meet other people in other countries, and shoot them,'_" Deavers mis-quoted the slogan. "I was hoping to avoid the 'shoot 'em' part. Never dreamed that those other countries would be on other worlds."

"So you joined the military just to have a job? There are easier ways to make a living."

"But a great way to find yourself," Deavers countered. "I've been to three countries, Dr. J., and now a couple of planets! Most of my friends have visited Canada, and that's all. And I have a great retirement plan, assuming I live to collect it."

Daniel changed the subject. "_You have a knack for speaking Goa'uld_," he said in that language. "_Have you always picked up languages quickly?_"

"_Nope. I almost …flunked Spanish_," Deavers admitted, stumbling over the words.

Daniel covered a frown. Something didn't sound right; he shrugged it off. The accent? Maybe. "Time to get back to work," he said, back to English, sitting up in his chair, letting the seat back come to an upright position. "Where's that report I was working on?"

"Right here, Dr. J." Deavers retrieved it from almost under Daniel's elbow. "And the one from the previous mission is already on General Hammond's desk, with a copy on Colonel O'Neill's. I ran it through spell-check; I hope you don't mind."

"Trust me on this; I appreciate the spell-check like you can't believe. The computer must have had a hard time with the Goa'uld script." _This kid was efficient, and so eager to please. Was Daniel himself ever that child-like? According to Jack he was. And still was. Never mind. Just take advantage of it, like Jack and General Hammond want me to do. I have to admit, it's a relief having someone do the scut work for me. Even better than having a graduate student; they tend to talk back and argue. The Beaver just takes orders and does what I ask._

"I pamper the computer just like I do you, Dr. J. Works just fine, only without the coffee."

* * *

"Daniel," O'Neill called down the hall. Daniel and Deavers were headed for the briefing room—on time, O'Neill noted, watching the young airman with the armload of books for his civilian charge. "Daniel, hang on a second."

Daniel waited for O'Neill to catch up with them. "Yes, Jack?"

O'Neill looked distinctly uncomfortable. He focused on the Beaver first. "You go ahead, Deavers. I need to speak with Daniel for a moment before the mission briefing. We'll meet you there." He waited until the young man had obediently disappeared down the hall before continuing.

Daniel wasn't good at being patient. "Jack? What is it?"

O'Neill frowned. "It's the mission, Daniel."

"Right. P3X-6J4. Goa'uld occupied, lots of Jaffa around. We talked about nipping in, grabbing what we can in a day or so, and heading right back out before they know what hit 'em. Lots of shooting and shouting. Sounds like you should have a lot of fun, Jack. Right up your alley. Me, my fun begins when I get to translate what we bring home. What's the problem?"

There wasn't any way to pussyfoot around the news. O'Neill steeled himself. "You're not going, Daniel."

"What?" Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Of course I'm going, Jack. You need me. There's no way that you and Sam could recognize the important stuff that's written in Goa'uld, and Teal'c doesn't read fast enough to be able to do the job."

"There's going to be a fire fight," O'Neill tried to say.

"I know. We discussed this. I promise, I'll do exactly what you tell me to do, Jack. Just this once, I won't give you a hard time about shooting back. I'll even wear one of those heavy duty flack jackets you've been talking about." Daniel rocked back expectantly on his heels. "These will be Jaffa, Jack. Shooting at them will not be a problem."

"Daniel, it's out of my hands." O'Neill felt like a heel. It had been General Hammond who had broached the topic, but O'Neill had had to agree with his superior. This particular mission was going to be one of the more dangerous ones they'd come up with. It had the potential for great rewards, but an equally great potential for one or more of SG-1 to end up dead—or worse. "This has to be a strictly military operation. This is for your safety, Daniel, as well as mine. And Carter's, and Teal'c's. And Deavers."

"The Beaver? What has he got to do with—?" Daniel caught on. His face went dead. "You're taking Deavers because he can read Goa'uld."

"It won't be the same," O'Neill tried to explain.

"You're right; it won't. Deavers is good, very good for only studying Goa'uld for two months but he's not up to my level. He won't be able to recognize weapons-grade information on the fly," Daniel said flatly.

"That's not what Teal'c says," O'Neill returned as coolly as he could. _This is hurting me a lot more than it's hurting you, Daniel. You think I like telling you that you can't play with the big boys? _"Teal'c says Deavers' accent is close to flawless. And he's military."

"What?" Daniel couldn't believe his ears. "Has Teal'c heard him lately?"

O'Neill hurried on. "You're always saying you need time to catch up. This is your chance, Daniel. We'll be back before you know it, and we'll regroup on the next mission. You'll hardly miss us."

"Deavers can't do the job." It was simple statement of fact.

_Reality check, Daniel_. "Neither can you," O'Neill returned, working to keep the multitude of emotions out of his voice. "You're a civilian, Daniel, and you know it. You don't have the training for an operation like this, and you could get yourself or one of us killed trying to cover you. You've said it yourself; Deavers is a better man in a fight than you. And there's going to be plenty of fighting on this trip. You're not going. The decision's been made."

"The decision's crap."

"Maybe it is, which means you'll have plenty of time to tell me about it in detail once we get back in forty-eight hours. End of discussion, Daniel."

"But—"

"End of discussion, Daniel. We have a briefing to get to."

"Don't you mean _you_ have to get to?" Daniel asked bitterly.

"I meant what I said, Daniel. Just because you won't be going doesn't mean you don't have valuable input." Jack turned back one last time. "I wouldn't let Hammond tell you about this in front of the others. You deserve that, Daniel. I mean it. The Stargate program wouldn't be a reality without you. But we have to face facts. This mission is going to be strictly military. You'd be a liability."

* * *

Hammond leaned forward to speak into the mike, his words going into the Gate Room. "Good luck, SG-1."

O'Neill sketched an airy salute from the bottom of the ramp. "Gonna need it, general."

Teal'c and Deavers were already at the top of the ramp, waiting for the other two to finish adjusting their packs. They could see Hammond behind the glass, hovering behind Davis who was monitoring the computer panel in front of him. Off to the side, almost hiding in the corner with an unreadable expression on his face, stood Daniel Jackson, hands jammed into his pockets.

Carter tightened a shoulder strap. She checked the safety on her P-90. "Daniel's taking this pretty well, sir."

"I hope. I really hope so, Carter. Because I have a feeling that this mission is going to look like a barroom brawl compared to the tantrum that Daniel is going to throw once we get back. I think I'm going to go hide someplace, so he can't yell at me. I already feel like a heel."

"He understands the reasons, sir." But the tone of her voice implied that Carter believed her own words as much as O'Neill did. "I mean, he's got to be as sick of ending up in the infirmary as we are of dragging him there. This mission would have been like waving a red flag at a bull. Asking for trouble. Daniel doesn't have the expertise for this sort of thing."

"Yeah. I just hope that we do." O'Neill led the way up the ramp to the undulating blue wormhole. He paused before stepping in for one last line. "Keep your head down, Carter, and don't forget to duck."

* * *

"Your report, First Prime."

"It goes well, my lord. General Hammond refused to allow Jackson to accompany SG-1 on the last mission. They obtained information, but not the more worthwhile pieces that they could have. Those were bypassed, unrecognized by SG-1 as valuable."

"Very good, First Prime. What else?"

"I have heard murmurings among the newer military personnel on the base that perhaps having a civilian among them isn't worth the aggravation, and that what they see as the success of this mission has demonstrated that idea very clearly. Jackson himself fueled those rumors by hiding in his office during the past mission. Sulking is what gossip says, although the quantity of time that Jackson put in shows that to be inaccurate. Those of a less forgiving nature have pointed to the apparent childish sulking as justification for eliminating all civilian personnel."

"Good. Seeing Jackson ridiculed pleases me; that particular Tau're is a menace to all system lords. Tell me more."

"I have arranged for him to be harassed, lord. It looks like more of the hazing that he underwent when he first joined the Stargate program, but it is having the desired effect. He never knows when he will be subjected to various annoyances and humiliation, and the pranks are designed to be unnoticeable to the others on his immediate team. It is having an effect on his work. He was expected to catch up on his work while SG-1 was off-world; instead, he spent his time cleaning up from the harassment. Because he has so far refused to admit the situation to O'Neill, he appears to be merely inefficient or sloppy. The more vocal opponents have suggested incompetent, and I have encouraged this line of gossip. Your plan appears petty on the surface, but it is having the desired effect: the work of the Stargate program is being hampered."

"Excellent. At this rate, we will be able to destroy the Stargate program altogether. The loss of Jackson will hurt them more than they can imagine. The others who speak Goa'uld?"

"Removed for the most part, your excellence. One dead, another hospitalized with no clear certainty of ever returning to profane the holy Goa'uld tongue."

"Well done." Teknet's eyes glowed, thinking. "It is perhaps time, First Prime, that you increase the pressure on Jackson. I am enjoying your efforts."

The First Prime's face lit up. "Thank you, lord!"


	2. Hear Me 2

"I'm having a hard time believing that Daniel's that petty, sir," was Carter's opinion. "He's not the jealous type." She set down her safety goggles onto the bench, turning off the power to the laser she had just lined up. The object of her endeavors, a twisted bit of metal with an embedded crystal, signaled its relief by letting the red hot glow ebb away.

Jack had wandered into her lab, eyeing suspiciously the various doohickeys that seemed to be able to jump by themselves. This was stuff he could appreciate. Carter was good at learning how to make things go fast, and back-engineering weapons that they came across. In fact, this little metal wrist-band they'd picked up yesterday in their mad dash across P3X-6J4 was sitting in a prominent spot on the afore-mentioned lab bench, just waiting to be prodded into action by Carter once she figured out how to do more than heat it up to near molten metal.

He shrugged. "Daniel said, and I quote: Waste of time. Whole mission was a waste of time. End quote. Then he said a lot more to me, which I'd rather paraphrase to you so that I don't have to remember all the high-falutin' words he used. Said that we only brought back stuff that we already knew about, and that Deavers must have missed the really good stuff. Said all that after one quick look at everything we risked our asses to get home. Said that after I showed him all the cute pictures that Deavers took, if you can believe it." He picked up something mechanical from Carter's bench, and quickly set it down when it beeped at him. "Maybe he's cranky from giving up caffeine. Although I have to admit, I'd expected him to give me a lot harder time than he did. Didn't raise his voice once. Just talked very calmly. And used a lot of big words."

Carter sighed. "He wasn't happy at being left behind, sir. Not that I'm questioning the decision, sir," she hastened to tack on. "This mission had to be military through and through." She indicated the white dressing on her arm. "You would have been calling me Samantha 'One Arm' Carter if Teal'c and Deavers hadn't been there to pull me back out of the line of fire. But you know Daniel. Every day there's someone around to remind him that he's not military, and to question his right to be here just because he's a civilian. I've been hearing a lot of that recently."

"Daniel's proven himself over and over again," Jack started in hotly.

"To us," Sam broke in. "He's proven himself to us, and to General Hammond."

"And to most of the SG teams," Jack said, "all of whom would go to Hell and back for him. Some of us already have."

"But not to the newcomers on the base," Sam reminded him. "And not to some of the outside brass. To their minds, Daniel's just some eccentric egg-head that we've taken a liking to. Daniel's probably scared stiff that General Hammond's going to take him off of field duty and stick him in an office full time like Yamamura."

"Not gonna happen, Carter. Not if I have anything to say about it. Daniel's too valuable to keep locked up in a wad of cotton."

"Yes, sir. But look at it from Daniel's point of view: where were you when the decision to turf him was made for P3X-6J4?"

"I happen to have agreed with that decision, Major."

"Yes, sir, and if it had been my place to give input I would have agreed also. But that's not the point."

"What is the point, Carter? Humor me. Make believe I'm not as smart as you."

Carter flushed but kept on going. "The point is that Daniel got left behind. We just pounded all of his 'kick me, I'm not one of the guys' buttons. He's feeling very insecure right now, sir."

"So we'll make it up to him. I'll talk to Hammond, see if we can't get pushed up on the roster, go to a nice deserted planet with lots of rocks. Think that'll make Daniel happy?"

"It ought to, sir."

"Good." O'Neill mimicked putting a phone up to his ear. "'Can you hear me now, Daniel? You're still part of SG-1.'"

* * *

Teal'c surveyed the devastation in Daniel's office with displeasure, noting the books that were tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the broken shards of pottery that dusted one corner. It was just the beginning: someone had taken pride in smashing every light bulb in every lamp, and had ended by tossing the old coffee grounds from the pot in the corner onto the computer keyboard. It would take a day to clean up, and longer to re-organize if the appearance of the file cabinet was any indication. "Who has done this, DanielJackson? They shall be reported to General Hammond." _Unless I get to them first_, went unspoken.

Daniel dropped heavily into his chair, not bothering to remove the debris on the seat. "Leave it, Teal'c. I'll get it later."

"But—"

"It's not worth the aggravation," Daniel said, a little more forcefully. "Taking notice of this will only encourage them. Believe me; I've been through this sort of thing before. It's just some of the macho types having fun."

"At your expense."

"It's not as though it hasn't happened before," Daniel started to say, when Deavers walked in and gaped. And said a bad word in Goa'uld. Teal'c flashed him a disapproving glance. _That's not an expression that _I_ taught you._

"Kind of my reaction, Beaver," Daniel said wearily, shoulders drooping. "I should have seen it coming. It's been way past time for an incident on this scale." Unspoken, at least to Teal'c's ears, was the acknowledgement that this had happened before. Several times before, and recently. Teal'c scowled.

"I'll get this cleaned up in no time," Deavers promised earnestly. "I'll have you humming again, no problem, Dr. J."

But Teal'c had caught the comment. "What do you mean, DanielJackson?"

"It's nothing. Forget I said anything."

"What's nothing?" O'Neill sauntered up to the doorway in time to hear the linguist and did a double-take. "Whoa, Nellie! What's the matter, Daniel? Throw a party and forget to invite me?"

"Right," Daniel snapped back. "We had a wonderful time. I danced around with a lampshade on my head, got stinking drunk, and made a complete and utter fool of myself. As usual."

"Hey, ease up on the caffeine withdrawal, Daniel," O'Neill ordered. He looked around. What had gone on was no accident and went well beyond O'Neill's definition of amusement. "What happened here?"

"What does it look like? Somebody trashed the place."

"Who?"

"How should I know?" Daniel hunched his shoulders, trying to melt into his chair under the stare of the three military men. "Some card-carrying member of the anti-geek brigade, I suppose, having a little fun."

"This goes way beyond a harmless prank, Daniel." It was time to get serious. And O'Neill didn't like the way his archeologist cringed at every word. Carter's comment about pushing all of Daniel's 'kick me' buttons echoed in his mind. It had taken a long time for Daniel to understand that he had earned the respect of the SGC, and O'Neill wasn't about to let that get thrown away by a couple of stupid grunts new to life at Cheyenne Mountain. The mission to P3X-6J4 had had more consequences than anyone could have imagined. O'Neill didn't want to believe that Daniel could be subjected to this sort of treatment while the rest of his team was off-world, but that apparently was what had happened. "This has impacted your ability to do your job, Daniel. It has set you, and therefore all of SGC, back by a day or more. You can't work and translate if you don't have your tools." _Or your self-respect_, he wanted to add. He glared at the computer keyboard, coffee grounds dripping onto the carpet. "What a mess." He didn't mean just the room.

He glared at Deavers. The airman hadn't done it, but O'Neill needed to glare at someone, and Daniel wasn't up to it. That left Teal'c and Deavers, and of the two O'Neill preferred to glare at Deavers. "Better get moving, Deavers. This is going to take a hell of a lot of work to clean up and we've all got a mission briefing in two hours. That's what I came to tell you."

Daniel didn't move. "Another mission you need my input on, Jack? How much sun tan lotion to pack?"

O'Neill couldn't help the sarcasm in return. "No, Daniel. The MALP sent back pictures of trees and rocks with funny little markings all over them. Rocks with words that don't look like anything anybody's ever seen before. Think you're up to it? 'Cause nobody else around here is. 'Can you hear me now?'" _There. That ought to tell Daniel that he's valued_.

* * *

O'Neill made a show of checking his watch as he walked into the Gate Room, backpack over his shoulder and P-90 at his side. All of the others were there, waiting for him, packs loaded and ready. Carter was doing a last check on her own weapon. Teal'c was waiting at the top of the ramp, Deavers alongside readjusting his own backpack. Even Daniel was standing at what passed for attention for the civilian. O'Neill smiled in pseudo-disbelief. "Am I late?"

Teal'c took his words seriously. "No, ColonelO'Neill, you are not. Rather, the rest of us are early. And eager to disembark."

"Chevron One, locked." The Stargate whirled, the mechanism clanking into position.

"Even you, Daniel," O'Neill grinned. "The pictures of the rocks the MALP took must have intrigued you."

"Artifacts, Jack. They're artifacts. And, yes, the writings look like an off-shoot of ancient Hebrew. They could be—"

"Chevron Two, locked."

_Good. Daniel's back to normal, talking a mile a minute and that's before we head through the 'Gate._ O'Neill hurriedly stepped back to have a word with Deavers. "Nice work, getting him here early. I haven't been able to do that in two years."

"Not me, sir," Deavers had to admit. "This was all Dr. J. Couldn't slow him down."

"You sure you're not slipping him a little high-octane caffeine?"

"Not me, sir. I'm afraid of Dr. Frasier."

"Smart man. Me, too." A belated thought occurred to O'Neill. "Um, listen, Deavers, you don't happen to speak ancient Hebrew as well as Goa'uld, do you?"

"Me, sir? I have trouble understanding someone speaking with a Yiddish accent, let alone Hebrew, sir."

"Good." O'Neill turned to wave at Hammond, high in the control booth. _Last thing we need, someone able to horn in on Daniel's area of expertise. Goal one for this mission: collect rocks. Goal two: restore Daniel's confidence in himself. Goal three: restore team spirits by accomplishing goal two._ "See you in a few days, General."

"Chevron Three, locked."

"SG-1, you have a go. God speed."

"Teal'c, point. Carter, take the six; Deavers, you watch over our favorite archeologist. Don't want to lose him, now that we've finally got him broken in. Might get stuck with some military jackass instead. Ready, Daniel?" he tossed back without looking. He had Daniel right where he wanted him, excited and ready to head out through the Stargate. All O'Neill needed was four more chevrons to lock and a giant blue flush.

"Fine." Daniel didn't sound fine.

O'Neill whipped around. He knew that tone of voice. It was the sound of his civilian specialist going under. Normally it happened some time after they'd gone through the 'Gate. Normally it happened after meeting up with some Jaffa, or some strange tribe with an attitude, or an earthquake on P3-whatever.

This time it was happening on this side of the wormhole. Daniel's face had gone pasty white, sweat beading out on his forehead. Knees were buckling, eyes rolling back into his head, the man looking as if he'd been shot by a zat gun.

"Daniel!" O'Neill's pack hit the ramp in a flash, O'Neill grabbing for Daniel before he went down. "Medic! Carter!"

Deavers was there first. "His heart is racing. He's not getting any circulation."

"He's right, sir. Daniel, can you hear me?" Carter had one hand on Daniel's wrist, the other checking his pupils. "Daniel, what's wrong?"

"Chest," Daniel gasped. "Can't…breathe…"

"Dammit, where's the medic?" O'Neill snarled. Of all of the times that this had to happen. "Medic!"

* * *

"Isn't he a little young, doc, for his heart to be acting up?" O'Neill didn't want to imply that Janet Frasier didn't know her stuff. He just wanted her to be _wrong_. That his team member, his civilian archeologist, _his friend_, wasn't lying in the infirmary bed, white as the sheet he was on top of, looking like he'd just gone three rounds with Apophis. And the rest of his team was milling around, looking like thunder, looking for someone—or something—to vent their ire upon. Carter had commandeered the plastic bedside chair as the only team member who had the societal acceptance to hold Daniel's hand in front of the rest of the SGC and make sure that he wasn't about to run away. _As if he could_, O'Neill reflected bitterly.

"Not necessarily, colonel." Frasier made a small notation on the clipboard she held. "And in this case, I warned him. And you."

"Me?"

"Airman Deavers, did Dr. Jackson get any caffeine today?"

"No, ma'am!" It looked silly for the six foot four giant to be afraid of the petite doctor, but O'Neill was grateful not to have that glare turned on him. He didn't blame the Beaver one iota. Deavers swallowed hard. "No, ma'am," he repeated. "Not one drop. Not that I gave him. You can check the stash I've got in his office. De-caffeinated, from the specialty store in town. Said it tasted almost as good as the regular stuff."

"Daniel?" Frasier zeroed in on her patient.

The voice didn't sound as if it ought to be coming from Daniel. It sounded old, and peevish. "I've been behaving myself, Janet. I gave up caffeine. Don't yell."

Frasier wasn't satisfied, and launched into a lecture worthy of Daniel himself and aimed at all present. "This type of heart arrhythmia is generated by an inborn genetic disorder, triggered by an outside agent. That outside agent is most commonly seen in two scenarios: excessive stimulant use, and excessive long term stress. Neither of which is conducive to walking around, as you have just found out. While it is not likely to kill you, Dr. Jackson, it is enough to ground you until we get it under control. There are several ways to get it under control. The first, and easiest, is to give up stimulants; namely, caffeine."

"Been there, done that." 'Muttered' was the polite term. 'Growled' was more accurate, though it was difficult to tell through the oxygen mask covering the archeologist's face. The quaver in his voice didn't help. Carter squeezed his hand sympathetically.

"Really." One look at Frasier's face was enough to tell how accurate she thought that assertion was. O'Neill wondered what the tests were telling the doctor. "Step two: reduce stress. Frankly, I doubt very much that reducing the stress in this facility is a realistic option. That leaves us with step three."

"Which is?" O'Neill put it into words.

"Medications."

"Oh." O'Neill couldn't say the relief he felt, and that Daniel didn't.

"Why? What did you think I was going to recommend, colonel?"

"I don't know." O'Neill gestured helplessly. "You know… Maybe…"

"Grounding him?" Frasier shot Daniel a quick glare. "I am. Temporarily, Daniel," she added swiftly at his instinctive objection. "Until we get this under control, I want you where state of the art medicine is more than chanting rituals around a fire. You're spending two days with me here in the infirmary hooked up to a heart monitor, then at least a week off duty."

"Janet—" Daniel tried to complain.

"You want two weeks off? Fine with me, Daniel. I'll approve it. In fact, I insist. This is nothing to monkey around with, Daniel. You've been abusing your body for some time, and it's payback time. Or do you want someone trying to fill your shoes here at SGC?"

O'Neill winced. She couldn't have known. Daniel went white, tight-lipped. "Low blow, Janet."

"Then get with the program, Dr. Jackson. This is yourself that you're hurting, along with the rest of the SGC. Cut out the caffeine, for real this time. In the meantime, I'm placing you on some medications that should resolve the problem until you've de-toxed from the caffeine." Frasier hung up the clipboard and walked away, ignoring Daniel's snarl that he'd already given up regular coffee.

Daniel eyed O'Neill with a certain defiance. "I did give it up, Jack. Coffee, cola's, chocolate, you name it."

"Not me you have to convince, Daniel."

"Janet knows her stuff, Daniel," Sam put in. "Maybe there's some other way that you're getting a stimulant. Or stress. There's been a lot of stress here recently. That could do it."

"Don't humor me, Sam." Daniel turned back to O'Neill, his lips set in a straight line. O'Neill recognized the look. It was Daniel's _I'm going to talk about this if it kills me_ look. "What about the mission to PS-284?"

"What about it, Daniel? We postponed it. We're on stand down until you're feeling better."

"That's crap," Daniel said, borrowing one of O'Neill's favorite phrases. He set his jaw. "You don't need me to go collect a bunch of rocks with writing on them. Deavers is capable of doing that, and take the pictures that I need to translate."

O'Neill went cold. He knew how much this must be costing his civilian specialist to make the admission _you don't need me out there_. He also knew how wrong it was. After Apophis-knew how many missions to how many worlds, O'Neill was well aware that bringing back pretty photographs and a rock or two inevitably ended up in a second and usually a third mission just to prove that there really wasn't anything worthwhile on P-whatever the hell planet it was. People like Deavers were just a preliminary to the real thing: Daniel Jackson, Ph.D.

It was time to end Daniel's charade. "Listen, Daniel," O'Neill said, measuring his words. "You know damn well that we need you on the other end of the wormhole, so stop sulking about the one time you didn't get to go along. There's a reason that SG-1 is the premier team at SGC, and you're a big part of that reason. So shut up, stop drinking your damn coffee, and work at getting your ass out of this bed so we can _all_ get back to doing what we do best. Understand?"

"Uh. Yeah." _Don't make the relieved look on your face so obvious, Daniel. People might talk._

"Good," O'Neill snapped. Enough sappiness. Someone might even vent an emotion if he wasn't careful. He focused on the other members of his team. "Carter, don't you have some research to complete? A Goa'uld toy sitting on your workbench?"

"Yes, sir." Carter fled.

Deavers was next. "Airman, I think there's an office that needs straightening up. A few light bulbs to replace, as I recall. A keyboard to clean out. Get to it."

"Yes, sir!"

One left. Teal'c favored his commanding officer with a cold pair of black eyes. O'Neill wisely shut down his mock tirade. "I'll be in my office. Writing reports." And, as a parting snarl, "I hate writing reports."


	3. Hear Me 3

General Hammond's office looked like the soldier: massive, sparse, comfortable, no nonsense, and entirely devoted to business—except for the discreet picture of two little granddaughters with laughing eyes. A neatly framed certificate of commendation hung on the wall next to the window. After being in Hammond's office so many times, Jack O'Neill ought to remember what the commendation was for, but since so many of those visits were for issues weightier than past good deeds, he didn't.

No exception this time. It was a formal request, so O'Neill gave a formal salute with just enough sloppiness to it so that Hammond was aware that O'Neill knew he was not in trouble. Someone else was.

Hammond indicated the chair. "Sit down, colonel. How is Dr. Jackson?"

O'Neill sat. "Foaming at the mouth, ready to get out, sir." _And back to work. And back off-world. Wants to prove himself, General. Again. Or should I say, 'over again'._

Hammond wasted no time coming to the point. "Colonel, there's been an incident."

"Sir?" _Teal'c hadn't crunched anybody, had he? Thinking that the man was Daniel's prankster? Please don't let it be Teal'c. He'd had a hard enough time talking Teal'c out of the last—_

"Dr. Anthony Himmelmann, SG-20's resident linguist, was killed in a motor vehicle accident last night," Hammond informed him.

"Damn." O'Neill was sorry to hear that. "I didn't know him well, General, but Daniel thought highly of him. Claimed he was as good as Daniel himself at translating Goa'uld."

"I wouldn't go that far, Colonel, but I agree, Himmelmann was a good man. His loss will be felt for a very long time. However, there's more."

"Sir?"

"Early indications are that it may not have been an accident."

O'Neill felt his blood ran cold. Who in the world outside Cheyenne Mountain would have reason to kill a translator? Especially a Goa'uld translator. "Are you ordering me to look into the accident while SG-1 is on stand down? It's been a while since I've done investigative work, sir."

"No, that's not why I've asked you here, colonel. I've assigned Lt. Baker of Security to review the accident report and make any inquiries that seem appropriate. I may be jumping at shadows, Jack. The driver of the other vehicle was a young mother and her infant. Not a very likely candidate for a Goa'uld assassin."

"Then why, sir, if I may ask, do you think that this may not have been an accident?"

"Because Lt. Yamamura was mugged last week, Jack. She's in a Denver hospital, in ICU. It's not clear if she'll recover, and if she does it will certainly be weeks and possibly months before she's capable of resuming her translation duties."

There were times when Jack O'Neill needed help in putting two and two together. This was not one of those times. "There are only four people on Earth that can read Goa'uld, and two of them are—were—Himmelmann and Yamamura. That leaves Daniel and Rothman. And Teal'c."

"There are very few people on this planet who are aware of Teal'c's presence, and I hope to keep it that way, certainly for the time being. Dr. Rothman is off-world at the Alpha site, and has been for the last month. In light of these recent events, I intend to leave him there indefinitely. In fact, I have ordered SG-3 to take up residence there as additional firepower. Do I make myself clear, colonel?"

"Completely, sir." _You think that someone is targeting our Goa'uld specialists. _"What about Daniel? Getting him off-planet might be the smartest thing to do. I can talk to Dr. Frasier—"

"I already have, colonel. Dr. Frasier recommends against any off-world assignments for the next two weeks. She also recommends against placing Dr. Jackson in any stressful situations for the same period of time. Since I have no intention of losing my best linguist to any potential assassin, I have ordered that Dr. Jackson remain on this base until we have cleared this matter up. Under guard. A discreet guard, but protected nonetheless."

"Sir—"

"Jack, I'm well aware that someone on this base has been playing practical jokes on Dr. Jackson recently. I'll be assigning a replacement for Airman Deavers to act as Dr. Jackson's assistant while SG-1 is off-world; the replacement's primary role will be to prevent any more of these so-called jokes as well as protect Dr. Jackson. Don't look so astonished, Jack. I have my way of finding out about these things."

"Yes, sir. I see that you do." He really shouldn't have been surprised. There was a reason that Hammond had made it to General. "Uh, off-world, sir? Without Daniel?"

"Other teams are without a linguist, Jack."

"Yes, sir. They're always trying to borrow Daniel."

That brought a smile to Hammond's face. "Not as many as all that, Jack. The story of how Colonel Burberry returned Dr. Jackson to you keeps growing, as well as your response. And the other team leaders are listening."

"Oh. That. Right."

"Never underestimate the power of a good story, colonel."

"We came to an understanding, Burberry and I," O'Neill protested.

"And I hear it was a very good agreement," Hammond replied. "You'll notice that I haven't interfered. Yet."

"Yes, sir." O'Neill shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you, sir. Off-world, sir?"

"Have your team ready for 0900, colonel."

* * *

"They suspect, lord, but cannot find proof," the First Prime reported. "Rothman is inaccessible to me. Jackson is under constant guard, though he is not aware of it. The ploy with the coffee was successful. He has been grounded." 

Teknet frowned. For the First Prime, it was as if the sun darkened over the world. "The off-world mission?"

"Worthless, as you predicted, lord. Photographs were brought back as well as some of the smaller inscriptions but they are of a vanished race. It is unlikely that there will be any information that the SGC can use against you, lord."

"Good." Teknet paused. "But Jackson continues to work?"

"Yes, lord, though slowly. His work is piling up as he recuperates. Dr. Frasier has been adamant about resting, and his assistant during the off-world mission was reporting to both General Hammond and Dr. Frasier on a daily basis. He is, however, coming closer to the information that you fear for SGC to have. I estimate that he will begin work on it within twenty-four hours."

"That must not happen, First Prime!" Teknet exclaimed. "We need to bring this to a close. Resolve this, First Prime, even if it means giving up the deception. It is my command!"

"I exist only to please you, lord!"

* * *

"What do you expect, Jack?" Daniel was tired, and cranky, and fed up with the same four walls around him. "I haven't been home in nine days. My mail is piling up, my fish need to be fed…" 

"I sent Deavers to take care of it," O'Neill interrupted. "What's the use of having a personal assistant if you don't use him to take care of little details like this?"

"I want to go home, Jack!" It was little short of a wail.

"Daniel—"

"I'm seeing Goa'uld script in my sleep, and I'm thinking in Goa'uld in my dreams. I'm tired of it, Jack. It's time to switch to some good old Egyptian nightmares, like I used to have. I want to sleep in my own bed!"

"Think of how much work you're getting done—"

"Jack!" This one really was a wail. Daniel leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses back further on his nose. He folded his arms. "Level with me, Jack. What's going on? Why can't I get out of here?"

"It's only been a week, Daniel. Frasier said two."

"She said one. And she's been taking daily ECG's. My heart is fine. Not a blip in sight. If I can sleep in a bunk here in Cheyenne Mountain, I can sleep at home. At least at home I don't have to worry about someone short-sheeting the bed, or dumping maple syrup on my clothes." He looked away, arms clenched around his chest as though trying to hold himself together. "Frasier's running out of excuses to give me." Then he turned back to glare at O'Neill, the old sense of paranoia rearing its ugly head. "Somebody think I'm a security risk, Jack? Why me? Rothman gets to go off-world and then go home. Himmelmann gets to go off-world and then go home. Yamamura doesn't, but she doesn't want to. She likes sitting in a cubicle, pushing a pencil. _Then_ she goes home. Why them, and not me? Haven't I proved myself?"

_Oh, God, he doesn't know. Frasier's orders: nobody upset the boy genius with the heart condition._

_Well, he's plenty upset now. And scared._

"Daniel," O'Neill started, and then hesitated.

"Tell me, Jack," Daniel demanded quietly. Calmly and rationally despite the fear. "Let me straighten out whatever it is so that I can get back out there. I can't find Sha're from in here." He pushed a single paper back across his desk. "I can't find Sha're by translating a Goa'uld shopping list. Especially one that originated on Earth by a minor system lord named Teknet."

Still O'Neill hesitated.

"Please, Jack."

O'Neill came to a decision. "Let me talk to a couple of people first, Daniel."

"Was it something I've done?"

"No." That answer came fast. "Daniel, it wasn't you. But…there are concerns. Concerns for the SGC, and your whereabouts are a part of it. The information isn't mine to share. But trust me on this, Daniel, it's nothing you've done. Or haven't done." There. That would hopefully give the man enough to chew on without giving away any state secrets. And reassure him that he wasn't to blame. "I'll talk to Hammond, and I'll see if I can break you out of here. Just hang in there, Daniel."

Daniel indicated the mounds of papers that Deavers hadn't gotten to. If anything, O'Neill judged, the piles looked higher than before. "Be my guest. I'm not going anywhere," he added with an edge to his voice.

* * *

O'Neill entered Hammond's office to find the general entertaining a guest. General Hammond gestured to the small uniformed man standing at parade rest beside his desk. "At ease, gentlemen. Colonel O'Neill, Lieutenant Baker. Lt. Baker is the man I assigned to look into Dr. Himmelmann's accident." 

"Sir." Lt. Baker saluted crisply.

O'Neill returned the salute, and followed it up with a hand shake. "Good to meet you. What do you have, lieutenant? And I hope it's something conclusive. I've got a certain civilian specialist that needs a break from this base."

Lt. Baker shrugged. "Not much, sir. As far as I can tell, both Himmelmann's and Yamamura's accidents were just that: accidents, with a scary coincidence in the timing. I checked out the driver of the SUV in Himmelmann's car wreck, and the woman is just who she claims to be. She's lucky to be alive. Apparently it was Dr. Himmelmann who lost control of his car and plowed into her."

"And Yamamura?"

"The Denver police are still hunting for her assailant. They've got a pattern going, so it's pretty certain that whoever did it is human. Just another scum on the streets, looking to take down a single person walking by for whatever they can get. They've been trying to catch this perp for the last three weeks. Lt. Yamamura was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the timing is all wrong for her attack to be connected to anything more serious. These muggings have been going on for at least three weeks before hers, and in a completely separate town from Himmelmann's accident."

But something that Baker said was niggling at O'Neill. "Back up a moment," he ordered, eyebrows crunching together in a frown. "Go back to Himmelmann. Where are you at with the accident? You said he lost control of his car?"

Baker nodded. "Yes, sir. The local Forensics unit did some measurements, based on skid marks and eye-witness reports. He lost control of the car and swerved into oncoming traffic. The woman in the SUV was the unlucky oncoming traffic. Himmelmann was killed instantly."

It clicked. "Why did he lose control?"

"Sir?"

O'Neill honed in. "Why did Anthony Himmelmann lose control of his car? What happened? Daniel has always said that Dr. Himmelmann was one of the most careful researchers he'd ever met. That should translate into driving a car, and you can check that with a review of his driving record. I repeat: why did Himmelmann lose control of his car?"

"Jack, he could have fallen asleep at the wheel," Hammond suggested. "It was night time."

"Eight o'clock at night," O'Neill elaborated. "Night time, sure, but not that late. Anybody do an autopsy? Was he drunk? Did he stop at a bar on the way home to the wife and kids?"

"No, sir. Alcohol levels were negative. Not a drop. I had them do a tox screen as well, just to be on the safe side, and that was negative also."

"Brakes?"

"No sign of malfunction, colonel."

"Tires?"

"Good tread. Two of them looked new." Lt. Baker shrugged reluctantly. "Sir, I'm willing to put more time into this if you want me to, but it looks like an unfortunate coincidence."

"Son, you've done a good job—" Hammond said, but O'Neill interrupted.

"Do a reconstruction on the tires," he ordered.

"Jack?"

Black Ops training came into play. Assassination was not something that Jack O'Neill would choose to do, but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to do it. "General, I'm not willing to admit that Himmelmann lost control of his car for no reason. Not yet, at any rate. He may have fallen asleep at the wheel, but I don't want to stake Daniel's life on that assumption." He thought for a moment. "How about this for an unpleasant scenario? Our assassin shoots out a tire on Himmelmann's car. Himmelmann loses control, and we are down one highly trained and irreplaceable translator. And no one would know the difference unless they went looking for a blown out tire with a bullet inside."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the other two digested his words.

"Lt. Baker." Hammond turned to the younger man. "How long will it take for you to find the answer to Colonel O'Neill's question?"

Baker tightened his lips. "Two days, sir. The Forensics Unit was getting pretty sick of me."

"Take a couple of our people. See if the extra help won't sweeten their disposition. If that doesn't work, pull the national security crap over them. I want this question settled as soon as possible. And assign another man to explore just who the hell might be wanting to dismantle the Stargate Command translation program piecemeal in a less than kosher manner. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Baker saluted himself out.

Hammond turned back to O'Neill. "Satisfied, Jack?"

"Not quite, sir. I've got a member of my team going stir crazy, and I've got to give him a break before he does something we'll regret. Request permission to take him off the base, sir? I promise he'll have a baby-sitter, either me or Deavers. Or both. Or more. We can take Teal'c along with us."

"Give Lt. Baker his two days, Jack. Then you can."

"I'm not sure that Daniel will last two days, General. Frasier's been pushing a lot of his buttons." _As well as our unknown prankster. Nothing like a few practical jokes to make an insecure archeologist feel unwanted_. O'Neill searched for an alternative. "How about Alpha Base? Good food, clean air, lots of SG types around..."

"Not a chance, Jack. Jackson and Rothman are the two remaining translators we have left. I won't have them in the same place where our hypothetical assassin can take them both out at the same time. I don't see how anyone could get back and forth between Earth and the Alpha Base, but there are a lot of things that I don't know."

"Then how about another world? P3-whatever? Something we've already explored, some place safe? Just somewhere that Daniel won't feel like a bug under one of Carter's microscopes."

"I don't have a problem with that, but you'll need to convince Dr. Frasier. Most of those 'safe' places don't come equipped with 911 services."

* * *

"Dammit." Carter rarely swore, but this seemed to be a fitting occasion. The little metal bauble that they'd picked up on their mad dash across P3X-6J4 still refused to cooperate, no matter what she did. She tinkered with this, and pushed at that, and still it refused to give up its secrets. She glared at the picture of the instructions that Deavers had hastily clicked. The photo was blown up larger than life but the drawings on the photo weren't helping and Carter's knowledge of Goa'uld written instructions was on a par with her knowledge of Swahili. For all she knew, that little squiggle on the bottom either said 'Kree!' or 'Have a nice day!' Of the two, Carter was more willing to bet on the former. "I can't even figure out what this thing is supposed to do," she snarled to herself. 

_What was the old line? When all else fails, read the instructions_. Sam picked herself and the overblown photo up and headed out the door. Time to find the man who _could_ read the instructions.

She found Daniel in his office, hunched over his desk and peering at some of the photos that they'd brought back from their most recent mission to PS-284—the one that Daniel had been about to go on before his graceless swan dive—trying to decipher the characters on the stones. That he'd made a fair bit of progress was evident by the number of sentences in English that covered the pages to the side. He looked up as she entered, squinting; he'd put his glasses to the side and his nose two inches from the photo.

He smiled in welcome. "Sam! Come on in. Bring me good news. Tell me that Jack sent you to say I'm getting off of this base."

Sam's own smile faded a trifle. "Sorry, Daniel, no can do. Wish I could. But listen, I need your help." She explained the problem, handing over the picture of the instructions that had accompanied her new toy sitting lifeless on her workbench. "There has to be an 'on' button, or something like that. Something that I'm missing. What does this stuff say?"

It didn't take long. In fact, it took something less than three seconds. Daniel replaced his glasses and peered at the writing, looking it over thoroughly. "Uh-oh. Sorry, Sam."

"'Uh-oh'?" she repeated. "'Sorry?' Sorry about what, Daniel?"

"You didn't miss anything. See this phrase here?" He pointed at something in red that looked unintelligible to the astrophysicist.

"I see it, but I don't understand it, Daniel."

"Let's just say that a rough equivalent would be…" he thought for a moment, clearly not wanting to hurt her but too honest to lie. "Sam, this thing was on its way back to the repair shop."

"Oh." Sam sat back in her chair. "But that doesn't explain why I couldn't fix it. I mean, I got power to go in—"

"Sam, the rest says that it was going back to the shop to use for spare parts. Nobody could get it to work. Junk heap time. Parts worn out beyond repair."

"Oh." One last forlorn attempt: "The Beaver said—"

"Sam," Daniel said gently, "this word, right here: 'broken'. This one, next to it: 'defunct'. This one at the bottom: 'parts only'. I'm paraphrasing, you understand, and leaving out the curses. Goa'uld tends to be a little pungent at times."

Sam sighed. "I don't know how the Beaver could have missed all of this. Maybe he thought this page belonged to something else that we passed up."

"Doesn't this picture here at the top look like the thing you grabbed?" Then Daniel shut it down. He was getting awfully close to saying 'I told you so,' which would get back to Jack, the very man that he was relying on to spring him from Cheyenne Mountain. Annoying the crap out of his colonel was not the way to further Daniel's aims, and he was fairly certain that Jack only wanted to hear good things about an airman that he wanted promoted. He put on a conciliatory smile, bright and false and hoped that it passed muster. "I'm sure that the Beaver did his best. I'll work with him, and Teal'c will, too, and we'll teach him a bit more Goa'uld. You'll probably all be wanting to join _his_ team soon," he added, hoping that Sam couldn't tell just how hard he was biting his own tongue in order to say that. "Jack did say that Deavers would be a man to get promoted quickly."

Sam wasn't fooled. The sub-text to the conversation was a lot clearer than the Goa'uld page she'd brought with her. "He's got a long way to go, Daniel. You've got a string of successes to your credit. His first solo venture he blew." She gestured to the photo of her toy. "Witness his mistake."

Daniel sighed. Someone did understand. "Thanks, Sam." He gave her the patented Jackson blue-eyed puppy look. "Are you sure you can't sneak me out? I promise, I'll come back just as soon as I've had the opportunity to breathe some un-recycled air." He sagged at her unspoken refusal. "Okay, okay. Just checking. Miracles have happened, you know, and more than once around here. Besides, I've got this incredibly fascinating translation to finish up…"

"Now say it like you mean it." Carter laughed sympathetically.

"I do mean it." _Hah_. "This one's from Egypt, one of the unnamed tombs. It's a list of Goa'uld weapons. I figure it'll come in handy when you're trying to figure out what to raid from whatever planet you guys are on—"

"—_we're_ on, Daniel," Sam corrected gently.

Daniel acknowledged her words, even if it was getting harder and harder to believe them.

* * *

"No, Colonel O'Neill, I will not okay Daniel Jackson for an off-world mission. You appear to believe that these are sight-seeing trips to the local zoo with a first aid station on every corner. You don't seem to understand that Dr. Jackson is a patient under my care, and I need him where I can keep a close eye on him." Dr. Frasier glared up at him, hands on hips.

"Look, doc, he's going crazy," O'Neill wheedled. "I gotta get him off the base somehow. Hammond won't let him go into town; hell, he won't even let the man go home. Off-world is my only option." He played another card. "Doc, you said yourself that we shouldn't stress him. What do you think is going on inside his head right now? He's not allowed off the base; nobody will tell him why, thinking that it will upset him. Of course he's going nuts."

"I'm well aware of that, colonel. It was not my idea to keep information from Dr. Jackson." Frasier wasn't giving an inch. "I did give him anti-anxiety medications, especially yesterday when his heart was acting up."

"His heart acted up? Again?" That was news to O'Neill. "He didn't tell me that."

"That doesn't surprise me. And I'm sure that it won't surprise you when I tell you that he's refusing to take the anti-anxiety meds. Says that they muddle his thoughts."

"Oh." That deflated the colonel. "His heart acted up."

"Yes, and I doubled his dosage of the ACE inhibitor. That seems to have solved the problem, although I'm not happy with the side effects."

"Side effects?" O'Neill had a sneaking suspicion that he was rapidly losing this argument.

"Orthostatic hypotension."

Argument lost. "Ortho-who?"

Frasier translated. "Daniel stands up, his blood pressure sits down."

"Okay…" O'Neill drawled out the word. It was not okay.

"Put it this way, colonel." Frasier explained the translation. "Right now, until he adjusts to the meds, every time Daniel stands up, he gets dizzy. The effect will disappear eventually as he gets used to the dosage, but that hasn't happened yet. Tell me, does this sound like a man who ought to be off-world possibly facing a posse of natives that he needs to run from at a moment's notice?"

"Daniel didn't seem shaky to me, doc." Now that he understood what she was saying, O'Neill was ready to continue the argument. "A little flaky, but that's just Daniel."

"Did he stand up?"

"He's not that military, doc. Only the grunts stand when I enter a room, and that's just for formal occasions. I'm lucky if I can get them to wave hi. Ask me if I care."

"I'm not joking, colonel." Frasier stood her ground. "In my professional opinion, Dr. Jackson is not fit to go off world, or be in any situation where emergent cardiac care is not available. Now I'm sorry that General Hammond has ordered him not to leave the base, but that's not something that I have control over. I've offered him pharmaceutical assistance in getting through this; he's not complying with the regimen that I've prescribed. I can deal with him refusing the anti-anxiety medications, but he sits there and tells me that he's not drinking strong coffee when the evidence is staring me in the face." Dr. Frasier folded her arms. "Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson has looked me straight in the eye and denied drinking caffeine-laced products when his adrenaline level is so high that he can't sit still. If he continues to behave in this fashion, I will have no other option but to ground him permanently. See if you can get that through his head, colonel."

Jack stared. "You're really not joking. This is not a 'dot the i's, cross the t's' sort of deal."

"Very real, colonel. He has to stop overdosing on caffeine, or I can't help him." Frasier flipped through the chart. "Very typical of a Type A personality, addicted to caffeine. He gave it up when I spoke to him, just before SG-1—minus Daniel—left on your mission, and he stayed clear for two days. The day after your return when I ran his tests there was clear evidence of caffeine ingestion, and I had to increase his dosages of the ACE inhibitors. These medications seem to have solved the problem for now, but unless Daniel gives up caffeine altogether, I am going to have to continue to monitor his heart on a regular basis. Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson is burning himself out. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." But something still didn't ring true. And O'Neill mentioned it. "Doc, granted that Daniel is addicted to caffeine. But he's been adamant that he gave it up. Daniel is desperate to continue to go off-world to search for his wife, and I can't see him doing anything that would jeopardize that. He was—and still is—upset that someone is taking what he thinks is his place on the team. He's wrong, of course. No one can replace Daniel, but that's not what he's thinking right now. Doc, believe me when I tell you that Daniel has given up caffeine…" More thoughts crept around and shook hands. "Deavers talked about a de-caffeinated variety that he's been using…Then there's those pranks that somebody has been playing on him…And the caffeine level rose when we returned from P3-whatever." A light bulb went off in O'Neill's brain, and the last pieces started to fall into a sinking feeling in his gut. "Doc, if I bring you some of Deavers' specialty coffee beans that he brought in, can you test them for caffeine?"

"That's a little devious, even for Daniel…" Frasier's voice trailed off as the implications became clear. "Not Daniel. You think that Airman Deavers—?"

"One way to find out," O'Neill returned grimly. _And who else would be in such an ideal position to pull vicious little pranks on Daniel?_ "I'm a suspicious little bugger, but that doesn't mean that the paranoids aren't really out to get me. What does Deavers gain by getting Daniel grounded?"

Frasier nodded. "A place on the premier SG team. Or so he may think."

"Without going through the usual chain of command and promotions. Let's go, doc. I think I want a witness for the coffee beans I'm about to snitch. In case this goes to a court martial."

* * *

"Yo! Dr. J! Let's go!" Deavers burst into Daniel's office, grabbing Daniel's coat and thrusting it at him.

"What?" Daniel looked up in time to snatch the coat out of the air. Papers flew. Daniel's face lit up. "You talked to Jack?"

"Yup. He said, and I quote: 'get Daniel out of this mountain before Hammond realizes what he's agreed to. I'll meet up with the two of you in one hour.'" Deavers gestured at the coat, shrugging his own on. "Get a move on, Dr. J., unless you want the MP's catching up with us." Deavers flashed a grin. "Unless you like it here underground?"

"I'm moving." Daniel jumped to his feet, only to sway unsteadily.

"Dr. J.?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Daniel clutched the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. "I'm fine. Just the damn drugs the doc has me on. I'm fine." He jammed his arm into his coat, hoping that Deavers didn't notice him continuing to lean against the desk. "Recreation now, Goa'uld shopping lists later." The dizziness passed as it always did, he swallowed hard to keep down the nausea, and then he stepped out. "Let's go. Now. Not later. _Now_. I believe you mentioned something about meeting Jack?"


	4. Hear Me 4

"This evidence is rock solid, doctor?" The question was a formality. General Hammond knew that neither Dr. Frasier nor Colonel O'Neill would have called him down to the lab unless it was.

"Yes, sir." Frasier took the lead. "The coffee in Dr. Jackson's office was not only high in caffeine, but laced with additional caffeine so that each serving had the potency of several cups of expresso. Because Dr. Jackson has been drinking so much coffee for so many years, I doubt he recognized the symptoms. In fact, it's entirely possible that once the additional caffeine is removed from Dr. Jackson's system, he may not need any medication whatsoever. His heart will very likely revert back to its usual healthy state."

"And we can have our favorite archeologist back," O'Neill announced, chin lifted high.

"That's a relief." Hammond looked at O'Neill. "What evidence do you have that Airman Deavers is the person responsible? There have been a number of malicious pranks being directed at Dr. Jackson for which Airman Deavers has borne the primary responsibility for cleaning up. Why would he make extra work for himself? I won't accuse a man unjustly, colonel."

"Deavers was the person who brought this supposedly de-caffeinated coffee on the base for Daniel," O'Neill countered. "No one else had their hands on the percolator."

"That we know of."

"Yes, sir. I could ask Lt. Baker to dust the coffee pot for fingerprints."

"You do that, colonel. How could Airman Deavers or whoever is responsible get their hands on extra caffeine that you found in the beans? It's not something that you get at the local drug store."

"Afraid it is, General," Frasier contradicted. "There are several brands on the market. College students use them to stay awake for all-nighters, truckers when they're driving through the night. There's even a prescription strength liquid used for premature infants. That would be a little harder to get hold of, but not impossible." She indicated the solution they had just tested. "The quantity of caffeine in this pot leads me to suspect that it is the stronger prescription variety, General. That should make it a little easier to narrow down the suspects. Whoever it was had to have access to a pharmacy."

"And Deavers was in a position to play all those practical jokes on Daniel, sir," O'Neill added. "He's been around him almost twenty-four/seven for the last two months. If he were trying to get Daniel grounded, and he knew that stressing Daniel out was the way to push the issue, he might have decided to take advantage of the situation."

"Even though he ended up cleaning up most of the messes he made," Hammond agreed. "But it worked. Not only did he participate in SG-1's missions, he even replaced Dr. Jackson on the last two with identifying and then photographing the data for retrieval. Your reports spoke favorably of his performance, Colonel. Helpful, cautious, and you never had to ask him twice for anything. He did a good job of looking after Dr. Jackson."

"He may have been there physically, General, but he did not, and I repeat, he did _not_ replace Daniel. I heard from Carter a little while ago, and an attachment to the last report will be forthcoming. Deavers screwed up the flying translation on her doohickey that she brought back. It was broken. Warning signs all over that Deavers missed. Believe me, General, he's no Daniel Jackson."

"No argument there, Jack. Let's get to the bottom of this." Hammond picked up the phone. "This is General Hammond. Locate Airman Eric Deavers and escort him to my office immediately." He set the handset down, considering. "Let's see what he has to say, people. There may be a simple explanation for all of this. But just to be on the safe side, Jack, I'm going to suggest that you ask Teal'c to go assist Dr. Jackson with his translations and keep a close eye on the good doctor while we sort this out. Just in case it isn't Airman Deavers causing all the ruckus, I want a man I can trust at Jackson's side."

* * *

Deavers leaned on the desk at the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain. "Now, Clancy, you know me," he cajoled. "Would I be taking Dr. J. out if I didn't have permission straight from General Hammond himself? That would be a one way ticket out of here, and a fast end to a short but brilliant career. Besides, look at him. The guy hasn't left the base in almost two weeks. Wouldn't you need some R & R after so much time?" 

"I don't know…" Sgt. Clancy hesitated. "Some pretty weird things come up from the twenty-third level."

"Tell me, does Dr. J. look weird to you?" Deavers waved at the linguist who was blowing on his hands to warm them in the cold of the winter-kissed air and dancing from one foot to the other. "Clancy, give the guy a break. It's cold out here! Hammond is only letting him out for the evening. He has to be back by midnight, or he turns into a pumpkin. You're wasting our time, guy!"

"Okay, okay," Clancy grumbled. "But I swear, Deavers, if you aren't on the level…"

"Think no more of it," Deavers grinned. "Listen, I'll bring you back something. Dr. J. was talking about that pub in town, the one with the Irish name, what was it?"

"Scotty's. And it's not Irish."

"Whatever. We'll bring you back some their ribs, the stuff with the barbeque sauce."

"You do that. Bring enough for two; Schmidt is joining me at eleven and you're going to have to bribe him, too."

"You got it. C'mon, Dr. J. We've got places to be." Deavers drew the scientist off in the direction of his car, hustling him into the leather-interior sedan and roaring off along the base road toward town before the guard at the gate could have second thoughts.

"Hammond hadn't notified the gate that I'm sprung?" Daniel asked, blowing again on his hands. "Nice car, by the way. You can afford this?"

Deavers cranked up the heater in the car, expertly taking the curves down the mountain. "Guess he hadn't had time. Or maybe he expected Colonel O'Neill to. Or they thought they'd told me to do it. In any case, I didn't want to waste the time. The colonel is expecting us."

"At that pub you were talking about?"

"Sure, doc."

* * *

"I mobilized the entire Security force right after Teal'c called me from Daniel's office," O'Neill told the General, tight-lipped. "Deavers talked his way through the Base gate with Daniel not thirty minutes ago. Baker alerted the local police to set up a road block, gave them the details of Deavers' car. It's cutting it close, but it's the best we have at the moment. Maybe Deavers won't get beyond town before the road block goes up." Jack looked away. "Sgt. Clancy at the gate said that he didn't notice anything wrong. Daniel seemed to be leaving of his own free will." 

"Deavers must have Daniel as fooled as he did us," Sam put in. "Ready to go, sir," she added, tucking a small pistol into a shoulder holster under her leather jacket.

"As am I," Teal'c rumbled. He tugged a black knitted cap further down over his forehead, not only to keep himself warm but to hide his emblem of shame from outsiders. One Security man had had the foolishness to suggest that the Jaffa stay behind, but had not spoken loudly. The suggestion was not repeated.

"All right, do we have any idea where Deavers was headed with Daniel?" O'Neill was mentally checking his tally of personal weapons. Deavers was big and fast with his hands, and O'Neill wished that he'd had more of an opportunity to assess what he was up against. A half-dozen sparring matches under the watchful eye of a drill master wasn't much, but it would have to do. And O'Neill had a big advantage; he'd been in life and death situations, on Earth and on other planets, on more than one occasion. He doubted that Deavers could say the same.

"Sergeant Clancy stated that Airman Deavers voiced the desire to partake of the nourishments served at an establishment known as Scotty's," Teal'c offered.

O'Neill grimaced. "We'll check it out, but I don't hold up much hope. Deavers is too smart to announce his plans. In fact," and he turned to Lt. Baker who was assembling his own squad, "Lt. Baker, I hereby bequeath the checking out of Scotty's to you and yours. You're welcome."

Lt. Baker saluted wryly. "My stomach, and the stomachs of my men thank you, sir. The rest of our parts, the parts that wish to nail this—" he eyed Major Carter and General Hammond, and adjusted his language accordingly, "—_suspect_ do not. We would rather trail after you. Sir," he tacked on.

"Understandable, lieutenant. Rank hath its privileges. Keep me posted and after clearing Scotty's I'll let you head in our direction. Move out."

"Sir." Baker saluted again, spit and polish, and took off with his squad.

"Sir?" Carter approached Colonel O'Neill. "Sir, do you know something that we don't?"

"No, Carter, I don't. But we have to have a place to start, and right now there are only two possibilities: Scotty's Bar and Grill, and Deavers' place. I don't feel much like eating. Do you?"

* * *

"Your place?" Daniel asked as Deavers pulled into the apartment parking lot. "Can we hit mine next? I know you've fed the fish, but I'd kind of like to go through the mail and pay the bills. It's a bit embarrassing for the lights to be turned off. Had that happen, once. One of the 'dead' times." 

Deavers pasted a grin on his face. Oddly, it looked slightly forced to Daniel. "C'mon, Dr. J., where's your sense of adventure? I'll bet the colonel knows all the hot spots."

"Probably." _Yeah, he knows 'em. Doesn't go to 'em much, just prefers to hang out with a few friends and a few cold ones. Pizza, beer, football; that's off-duty Jack O'Neill._ "Listen, I'll call him, let him know we'll be a few minutes late. He'll understand." Daniel reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone.

Deavers caught his hand. "Don't bother. The reception is lousy in this neighborhood. 'Can you hear me now?' Nope." He grinned warmly. "Wait until we get upstairs, to my place. You can use a land line to get through. C'mon, it's cold out here. Come inside and get warm for a second."

Daniel shrugged. Obviously Deavers knew his area better than Daniel. The apartment building looked higher class than what Daniel would have expected to find for a man with Deavers' pay but, he thought, maybe Deavers had another source of financial income; an inheritance or some such. Daniel himself had had a trust fund from his parents' estate that had paid for almost half of his schooling. Scholarships and part time jobs had done the rest. He trailed after Deavers, huddling into his coat against the winter cold.

He felt immediately warmer upon entering the building. Deavers hustled him into the elevator, taking him up several flights. Daniel, ever the anthropological scholar, looked around. _Damn nice place. Maybe I should look into what the rents are like. If Deavers can afford this on an airman's salary, maybe I need to think about moving. _Deavers_ would probably appreciate it, next time I'm confined to the base and he gets volunteered to water my plants._

Deavers had his coat off before he got to his front door, and Daniel followed suit. Even the hallways were well heated, with a nod to a solarium type area at the end of each hall. The windows looked nice, and Daniel suspected that the view would be attractive if he could see anything through the dark. _Damn_ nice place. He folded his coat over his arm and walked into Deavers' apartment.

Two things happened simultaneously. The first was that Deavers stepped to the side to demonstrate that his apartment already contained an inhabitant. The second was that the inhabitant's eyes glowed. Daniel stopped short.

Deavers anticipated the reaction. Daniel jumped back, but Deavers grabbed his wrist and yanked. "Come in, Dr. J. My lord Teknet has been waiting for you."

It wasn't for nothing that Daniel had spent hours in the gym, working out with O'Neill and Teal'c. It wasn't for cheap jokes and laughs that he endured, over and over, O'Neill saying, "for Pete's sake, Daniel, _listen_!," and Teal'c rumbling, "that is a unique response to my challenge but ineffective, DanielJackson."

Daniel's brain went on sabbatical and his reflexes into overdrive. He cross-reached, grabbed Deavers' thumb, and wrenched it backward.

It worked. Deavers' grip came off in a trice, and the big man went down to one knee with a yelp. Daniel turned to flee.

Unfortunately for him, Deavers had learned to fight in the same schools that O'Neill had, and had been practicing for many more years than Daniel. Deavers swung around, sweeping one long leg in a wide circle, and tripped Daniel up neatly. Deavers pounced.

He hauled Daniel back up to his feet, keeping one arm in a careful half-Nelson. He crooked another arm around Daniel's neck. The Goa'uld allowed his eyes to glow once again, knowing that it would send shivers of fear into his latest captive.

"I understand that you've run across my 'shopping list', Dr. Jackson," he purred.

* * *

"C'mon, c'mon," O'Neill snarled quietly, cell phone to his ear. He pulled the SUV into Deavers' apartment building parking lot. "Pick up, Daniel. You can hear me now, Daniel." 

"Is the reception good enough here, sir?"

"I'm getting four bars, Carter. Daniel ought to have the same if he's in this neighborhood. We use the same company."

"If he is indeed in this area," Teal'c rumbled, "and if his phone is turned on."

None of them voiced what they all were thinking: that Daniel wasn't in any condition to turn his phone on.

"This is the address listed for Airman Deavers, sir." Carter pointed to the apartment building.

O'Neill turned over plans in the twinkling of an eye. "Alright, let's play it this way. We are in the neighborhood and want to see if our teammate and good buddy the Beaver wants to come out for a beer. Who wants to act drunk?" He looked from the Jaffa to the razor-straight military scientist, both of whom stared back with a blank expression. "Okay, forget the drunk. We're just on our way out to have a good time. Have your guns ready but out of sight."

"Yes, sir." "A wise plan, O'Neill."

O'Neill checked the lobby directory, saw Deavers' name next to apartment 412, just as his files had said. He almost opted for the stairs, but reconsidered. Why? Stairs were for people about to make an arrest. SG-1 was just here to invite Deavers for a romp. And Jack had his bad knee to consider. Decision made: the elevator. He punched the button for up.

"Nice place," Sam commented, looking around at the lobby.

"Yeah. Real nice, for a guy on an airman's salary. Anybody else think that somebody ought to do a financial background check on the Beaver?" O'Neill kept his voice low, leading the team out of the elevator toward Deavers' apartment. "All right, let's play this by ear."

Teal'c lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement, but Jack ignored him and rapped on the door. "Yo, Deavers," he called, keeping his tone jovial. "It's O'Neill. You in there? It's Friday night. Drinks are on me."

"Sir, it's Wednesday," Sam hissed.

"Carter, someplace, on some world, it's Friday." He knocked again. "Yo, Deavers. Get a move on."

More silence. O'Neill plastered his ear to the door, and heard nothing. It didn't sound as though Deavers was home, with or without Daniel. Tightening his lips, O'Neill delved into his coat pocket and brought out a small kit. A couple of hand signals sent Carter and Teal'c watching for onlookers, and O'Neill set out to pick the lock.

It took more than a few moments; Deavers had done an above average job of bolting the front door. But no one peered around any corners, and O'Neill accomplished the task with a minimum of noise. He eased the door open and slipped inside, gun in hand and team watching his six.

The place was empty. More than that; the place was a dump. The apartment complex was upscale, but Deavers apparently kept all his cleanliness and neatness for off-world and on base and looking after his assigned archeologist. Clothes were littered everywhere, and the remnants of food and wrappers were heaped helter-skelter over the floor and on the chairs and crammed into the cracks of the furniture. One peek at the kitchen showed the sink to be overflowing with dirty dishes. Sam winced. Jack hoped not to have to introduce Teal'c to an Earth cockroach.

"Gone," O'Neill reported to the other two.

"But they were here." Sam picked up Daniel's overcoat from where it had been dumped on the floor. "Come and gone. Where to? And without Daniel's coat?"

"Good question, Carter. Answers would be better. I'll report in." He pulled out his cell phone to call the General. Before he could flip it open, the little box cheeped at him. Jack had it to his ear in a flash. "O'Neill. You find him?"

It was Hammond. "No, but we may have a lead, colonel. One of the state police just ticketed Deavers for speeding on Route 73 north out of town about an hour ago."

"Daniel with him?"

"Not clear. He had a passenger, but the officer remembers the man as dark-complected with black hair. We're faxing a stock photo of Dr. Jackson to the officer's station house as we speak. We'll be able to tell whether Dr. Jackson is Deavers' passenger in a matter of moments—yes, sergeant?" When the general's voice returned, it had overtones of disappointment. "The word came back from the police precinct. The man that the officer saw in Deavers' car was definitely not Dr. Jackson."

"Damn." It couldn't be easy for once. But—"Deavers and Daniel left together, and by this time Daniel is not going willingly without his coat. Deavers wouldn't simply dump him anywhere. Deavers has to have a plan." O'Neill was thinking out loud, hoping that someone would jump in with additional information to solve the problem. "Maybe the passenger was someone who put Deavers up to this. Some agent of a foreign power looking to acquire one slightly used linguist with off-world experience. The Russians, for example. They have their own Stargate. They could use Jackson. And Deavers could have stashed Daniel in the trunk of the car." _How big was that trunk? Probably not large enough to stretch out comfortably in. _O'Neill didn't like it.

"That's one possibility," Hammond agreed, "and there are more. I won't mention any other groups as of yet, but we need a lead, colonel."

"We've got one," O'Neill said grimly. "We know that he's heading north. What's north of here?"

"Not much," Sam informed him. "That route heads straight through the mountains for a lot of miles. Why would he go there? The next town, West Covington, is at least four hours from here. It's not a good escape route if he has Daniel, sir."

"Exactly, Carter. He wouldn't go in that direction if he were trying to escape. So there has to be an overriding reason why he's taking that particular route. Why?"

"He's meeting someone in West Covington?" Sam suggested.

"Would you meet someone in West Covington? At two AM, which is when Deavers will arrive?"

"Perhaps Deavers' companion is the motivating factor," Teal'c offered.

"Sounds better than a meet in West Covington," O'Neill thought, "but where's Daniel?" He glanced around one last time. "C'mon, kids. Back to the car. We're heading north."

* * *

Daniel stood swaying on his feet, shivering and trying to will his head to clear from Frasier's medications. The stiffness didn't help; Deavers had dumped him into the trunk of the car, wrists tied behind him and trussed like a chicken waiting for slaughter. _Not a good comparison, Jackson_. And it was cold in that damn trunk without anything more than a flimsy tee shirt. Daniel had gotten a small glimpse of the outside of the log cabin, nestled in the woods in the snow, before Deavers had hauled him out of the trunk and dragged him through that same snow into the cabin. Deavers flung him inside, and Daniel landed face down on the rough wood floor. 

Teknet examined his new acquisition with interest, lifting Daniel's chin with his toe so as to better observe the archeologist's features. "He is an attractive human. Almost as attractive as you, First Prime. He will be a valuable addition once trained." He bent over and took Daniel's jaw in his hand, trying to see into his mouth to check his teeth like a wily horse trader.

Daniel wrenched his face away. "Go to hell."

Teknet smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. "Spirited, too. We can train that out of him. Not too much, though; I enjoy a bit of wildness, and bringing him to heel periodically intrigues me. I will keep him as a scribe, First Prime."

"We had best start the training soon, lord." Deavers glanced anxiously out through the window. "No one knows of this place, but they have good investigators. O'Neill himself is no slouch when it comes to tracking people down. The couple of missions I've seen him in action, he's been very effective."

"Then we will use the resources of this planet to speed up the process," Teknet said. "First, the _tuvatka're_." So saying, Teknet removed a box covered with carved symbols. Despite his danger, Daniel couldn't help but be interested. The symbols were Goa'uld, but so faded that he could barely make them out. It was clear that the artifact was old—and deadly. There was a symbol for 'mind', and another for 'Jaffa', and then Daniel couldn't see any more. Maybe it didn't work on humans, only Jaffa? By the looks of Deavers, Daniel didn't hold up much hope. Teknet opened the box and took out a slender golden crown with two small rectangular boxes on either side of the circlet. Daniel struggled, but to no avail. Deavers held him fast, and Teknet applied the device to his temples.

The buzzing started at once, vibrating directly into the bones of his head. It wasn't painful, though Daniel thought that if this buzzing continued for too long he might go mad with boredom. He could barely make out the thoughts being transmitted into his skull: _Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

Damn. If Deavers gave in to this, Daniel himself would toss the airman out of the Stargate program. He'd had professors whose lectures were worse. Daniel could put up with this all day and all night, with or without caffeine. _Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_. Annoying, sure, but hardly unbearable. _If this is the best you've got, then let me tell Jack O'Neill to take his time getting here_. _'Can you hear me now, Jack?'_ For there was no doubt in Daniel's mind that Jack and the rest of the team would be hot on his trail as soon as he realized that Daniel was missing from Cheyenne Mountain.

Teknet continued to survey him thoughtfully. "We must diminish the quality of the scribe's thoughts," he decided. "That will hasten the work of the _tuvatka're_. If what you say is correct, First Prime, we do not have a week in which to work as we did for you."

"How will we do that, lord?"

"Cold," was the answer. "That is the resource that this region of my realm has in abundance. We will place the scribe outside until his mind begins to shut down. Then the _tuvatka're_ will be able to work more effectively."

_Okay, Jack, I take it back. Hurry. It's damn cold outside_.

_I'd really, really like it if you could hear me now_.


	5. Hear Me 5

"Nothing, sir." Sam hustled back into the SUV, closing the door quickly against the frost outside, rivulets of snow dropping off of her boots. "They didn't stop here. No one in the diner recognized the pictures of either Daniel or Deavers."

"Damn." Jack restarted the car, the dashboard glowing redly with the blinking neon sign telling them to Eat At Marlene's. "They could have turned off, or they could have kept going. Carter, check in." He pulled out, scarcely looking for traffic. At one AM, deep in the mountains with snow on both sides of the lonely backwoods route, traffic was nothing more than a memory.

Sam pulled out her cell. "General Hammond? Carter, sir. Anything?" She started repeating the information aloud so that the other two could hear. "Lt. Baker did a fast and dirty financial check on Deavers. Apparently he's stretched out on his credit cards. Mostly food, wine, and clothing. Luxury items. An expensive car, for which he is currently behind on the lease payments and the word is out that a repossession is in the works. Nothing much in bank accounts that Baker has been able to find. Deavers has been spending everything just as soon as his paycheck comes in, sometimes sooner. Thank you, sir. Nothing on this end. We'll keep you posted."

Jack slowed down to take an icy patch. "Slow going. This weather'll slow Deavers down as much as it does us." He grinned, with no humor. "He boasted about being able to drive in snow. Grew up in it. Unfortunately for him, so did I."

"What did you say?" Sam turned around.

"Major?"

"You're right, sir: Deavers talked about growing up in the snow belt. He also mentioned that he had a cabin in the woods!"

Jack almost slammed on the brakes before he remembered that it would send them into an icy spin. "Back on the horn, major! Have Baker find out where that cabin is!"

* * *

_All right, it's official: snow is damn cold. Especially when you're in bare feet_. The shivering started almost as soon as Deavers shoved him out the door to land head first in a snow bank. _Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_. The Goa'uld device was still only an annoyance, but the cold was more lethal. Daniel estimated that he'd be able to last three or four hours, but not much more. Optimistically he decided that running away would also generate more heat, and if he happened to be lucky enough to run across a wandering squad car wondering what half-dressed lunatic was out in the middle of the night in this weather… 

"And you thought I'd let you escape, Dr. J.," Deavers chided him. "Hold still. I need to get this tighter." Deavers looped another length of rope around his ankles.

Daniel yelped. "Not so tight! You're cutting off my circulation!"

"That's the idea, Dr. J. Little bit of discomfort will be good for your state of mind. Helps the _tuvatka're_ work, get you back inside where it's warm a little faster."

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_. The buzz grated on his nerves.

"Take off his clothes. All of them." Teknet's eyes held a disturbing look. It wasn't just the glow.

"Lord?"

"I want to see him," Teknet said. The Goa'uld licked his lips. "I want to see his flesh. Stand him up."

_Damn. Not only do I run afoul of a Goa'uld, I get one who hasn't gotten his rocks off for three thousand years. Needs to make up for lost time. Crap. He must have been a female in his previous host. I hope that's all._

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god._

Deavers hoisted Daniel to his feet, holding him in place. Daniel's own legs, tightly bound at the ankles, were unable to keep him upright. Teknet approached, and Daniel's blood ran colder than the snow he was standing in.

Starlight glinted on the knife in Teknet's hand, and the blade looked big. Teknet stuck the point under Daniel's chin, forcing Daniel to crane his head back to avoid having his throat cut.

"I am your god!" Teknet hissed. "Say it!"

"You are a damn parasite." It wasn't easy to spit with his head cocked back, but Daniel managed it.

Teknet backhanded him. Daniel's head rang. He spat blood.

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god._

Tied, it wasn't possible to remove Daniel's clothing without cutting, and Teknet didn't bother to try. He sliced through the tee shirt first, tossing the shreds away into the snow. The Goa'uld caressed Daniel's chest with his manicured fingers, tracing the muscles that were slowly growing there under the determined tutelage of the military. Daniel felt as though there was a horde of cockroaches crawling over him.

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

The belt was torn from his waist before Teknet attacked his pants. Daniel yelped when Teknet carelessly sliced into his leg. Warm blood trickled down.

Teknet dabbed at the blood with his finger, bringing it to his mouth, tasting it. Then he tasted the blood again.

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god._

_Teknet is insane, even for a Goa'uld_. Daniel wondered if he would get out of this alive. It wasn't the cold that would get him, it was the Goa'uld. He struggled in Deavers' grasp, unable to wrench himself away.

Teknet giggled, the sound echoing into the cold night. He plunged his hand deep into Daniel's shorts, reaching, squeezing and fondling. Daniel yelled in sudden terror, jerking helplessly. Deavers tightened his grip, laughing. Teknet sliced the remnants of Daniel's clothing from him and giggled again.

"You are mine, little Tau're," the Goa'uld crooned, drinking in the sight of his victim. "Before the night is over, you will beg me to do this to you."

"Go to hell!"

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god._

It was over. Deavers dropped Daniel into the cold snow, watching the archeologist choke back his disgust. Even the snow felt more welcoming than the Goa'uld's filthy hands, and Daniel gave a sigh of relief that he'd gotten off so easily. Deavers took another length of rope, tying Daniel's bound hands to his bound ankles, bending him backward until squirming itself was unrealistic. Daniel fought to keep from crying out.

Teknet spoke dreamily. "Come inside, First Prime. I wish to pleasure myself upon you." Through closed eyes, Daniel could feel the pair inspecting their handiwork. "This one has excited me, but must be trained if I am to have a scribe. Would you like that, scribe?"

"Go to hell," Daniel whispered with as much defiance as he could manage. _My arms aren't being torn from their sockets. I don't feel my feet going numb_.

"Perhaps not too trained," Teknet mused. He caressed Daniel's rapidly chilling cheek, eager to feel Daniel struggle to flinch away. "His resistance pleases me. I must make certain that it stays." He again caressed the flesh of his newest slave.

Daniel threw up into the snow.

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

* * *

The diner was bright, and cheery, and empty. The three had given in to the cold when Teal'c admonished them to maintain their own health—"you cannot effectively search if you are too weary to see the signs in front of you—" and had stopped for coffee. Teal'c himself opted for tea and a strawberry Danish to replenish himself, but the other two went straight for the hard stuff and refilled the thermos that Sam had packed with scalding hot black coffee. They chose a booth well away from the counter, eyeing the waitress/cook who had drawn the short straw and had to work the night shift. The last pair of truckers had walked out the door just as the trio entered, and they heard the semi rumble into action on its way to nowhere. 

Sam returned to the table, coffee cups in her hands. The waitress wasn't bothering with the waitress part of her duties and settled for being the cook, which suited the trio just fine. The more distance between them, the more security. Win-win situation. If only the rest of this whole nasty affair was as easy, Sam thought as she put the mugs onto the red and white checkerboard-covered table in front of her teammates.

Jack's cell chirped at him, and the box was at his ear in a flash. "O'Neill. Yes, Baker? You find it?" Silence. The other two waited with baited breath. "No, that's not the one. It can't be. New Hampshire is half a country away from here. Keep looking."

"Colonel?"

O'Neill gave a tight little smile that had nothing to do with mirth or good humor. He tucked the cell phone back into his pocket. "Dead end. There was no cabin in Deavers' name, so Baker looked a bit farther. Deavers' family does have a cabin in the woods, but it's not local."

"New Hampshire," Teal'c echoed, having listened to Jack's end of the conversation.

"Right. Located some two thousand miles from here. And Route 73 outside is not the most direct route if he were headed there."

"But that doesn't make sense," Sam said. "I mean, Deavers told Daniel and I very clearly that he had a place in the woods nearby. Baker had to have missed it."

"And so have we, major. If that's true, Deavers could have pulled off anywhere between here and Cheyenne and we would never have known it. And it's not as though we can do a house to house search around here under the guise of national security. Too much geography, for one thing."

"And we still can't be certain that Daniel is even with Deavers," Sam added despondently. "What are we going to do, colonel?"

"Hammond has already kicked this upstairs to the National Security folks. They've moved people into all the international airports, and the borders are being closed. Baker is worried that Deavers is going to try to smuggle Daniel across the border into Canada and from there disappear into the wilderness until he can find a buyer."

"But you do not." Teal'c saw the doubt on Jack's face.

"You're right; I don't. A snatch of this magnitude, I'd be hearing some rustling in the undergrowth. A relocation here and there, another spy being planted, another one recalled. Large sums of money would be changing hands in preparation for some spirited bidding. Maybe even a submarine moved into position for a midnight pick up."

"And that's not happening," Sam said.

"No, it's not. Hammond agrees with me; his sources are saying the same thing. This just doesn't make sense."

"You think maybe Deavers is simply out to get rid of Daniel, to make room for himself on the team?" The implications of Sam's question were scary.

O'Neill was never one to lie to himself. "If that's the case, Carter, then we need to find Daniel, and fast. Deavers will have no reason to keep him alive."

Teal'c's knuckles whitened on his mug.

* * *

It was dark. A few stars peeked out between the clouds, but the moon was no more than a sliver and declined to share the borrowed light with the freezing man in the woods. From his position on the snow-covered ground, Daniel couldn't see any lights from Deavers' cabin. He was far enough away, he thought, that he wouldn't have been able to see any even if standing. That was a plus, as far as he was concerned. The more distance, the better. 

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

The damn crown dug into his forehead, the minor irritant lost in the buzzing of his brain waves. Daniel could feel the intensity increasing as the cold robbed him of rational thought. Teknet was right, he thought drowsily. Hypothermia was slowing his mind to a crawl, and that was allowing the damn Goa'uld mind control device to take a foothold in his head. He was going to have to do something about it, and quickly if he didn't want to become like Deavers. Scribe to Teknet? He'd rather be dead.

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

_Teknet is my_—Daniel stopped himself in horror. _Stay awake, damn it! Don't let Teknet win!_

_Gotta do something. Fight. What would Jack do?_

Jack wouldn't have let himself get put in this situation in the first place. Jack was military, didn't have to worry about being grounded in favor of some young hotshot like Deavers. Jack didn't need an eager Beaver Deavers to run around picking up after him, tying his shoelaces for him.

Jack wasn't stupid enough to let Deavers lead him into an ambush.

That was what hurt the most, Daniel reflected bitterly. He'd trusted Deavers, tried to help the kid make something of himself. Of course Deavers was learning Goa'uld at a phenomenal rate. Who wouldn't, with their own private Goa'uld tutor at home? And Daniel himself? Daniel realized that he'd just about rolled over and begged for Deavers like a trained show dog. _Give me a cup of coffee, and I'll be your best friend for life_.

And if he was lucky, Daniel's life wouldn't be a long one after this.

No, that was a defeatist attitude. What had Jack said? Never give up?

_Teknet is your god. Teknet is your god_.

_I will serve Teknet—no!_ Daniel frantically rolled over, welcoming the pain that it brought to his arms to drive back the insidious thoughts. _Gotta fight! Gotta hold on until Teknet can get here. I mean _Jack _can get here!_

Warmth, he thought. Small, simple thoughts, straightforward ideas. Need warmth. His torn clothing lay in a heap at the edge of clearing. Daniel inched his way toward them, struggling against the ropes that held him fast. It wasn't much, but even burrowing under the pile of fabric would protect him from the slender breeze that stole his body heat.

Rocks and twigs dug into bare flesh. The stones were the worst: they had absorbed the cold and offered it back to Daniel with sharp edges. The shallow cut on his leg where Teknet's knife had slipped stung but he was reasonably certain that it was no longer bleeding. Hog-tied as he was, he couldn't see. Do him any good to observe the wound? Not really. _Teknet would take care of him—_

_No!_ Daniel rolled over again, feeling a large stone bite into his ribs. He panted; gonna have another bruise there. A big honkin' one, as Jack would say. How long had he been out here? Hours, he thought, aware that his sense of time was disappearing with his ability to think. _No. I'd be dead if it were hours. Maybe minutes_…

Something softer brushed against his bare skin. Dead leaves, returning to the ground in an endless circle of life? Better than that; it was his tee shirt, shredded and torn.

But warm. He wrestled his body around, trying to crawl underneath it, to allow the fabric to ward off the cold breeze. His pants had to be around here somewhere, and with their greater length he could acquire greater coverage. There they were; he could see them as a dark mound barely visible in the starlight. He squirmed in that direction, grabbing the tee shirt rags with his teeth. He was not leaving it behind. He needed all the clothing he could get no matter what the condition.

The pants were torn apart, courtesy of Teknet's tailoring efforts, and Daniel found that to be a blessing. The legs, opened up, covered more territory, and Daniel inched his way underneath, wincing as the stones and fallen twigs dug into tender frozen flesh. No, not frozen. Not yet, at any rate. He couldn't feel his hands or his feet, but Daniel was more than willing to attribute that to Deavers' rope expertise. Frostbite was something Daniel didn't want to contemplate. He had enough to worry about.

_Teknet is my god. Teknet will care for me—_

Dammit! Daniel deliberately raked himself against the ground, using the pain to distract himself from the Goa'uld mind control device, crying out when the rock bit into his side. _Don't have to worry about anyone hearing you out here, Daniel_.

_Think!_ he snarled at himself, using anger to fuel heat. _How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? How would Jack do it? How is Teknet going to save you?_

Dammit! He heaved against the ropes, scared that he couldn't feel the bite of the rope on his wrists. Flesh dying; he'd seen gangrene once, as a kid in Egypt. They'd brought the man into his mother's tent, his foot putrid and blackened. _Please don't let me go like that._ The man had screamed when they lifted him to the stretcher for transport into Cairo. Seven year old Daniel had never seen him again, never knew if he had lived, never even knew his name.

_You know your lord's name: Teknet. Teknet is your god_.

There were rocks in the torn pockets of his pants. Daniel didn't care; the cover was what he craved. It would do until his lord Teknet deemed it meet to come for him, to care for him.

_I'm losing_, Daniel realized. _C'mon, Daniel. Fight it! Listen for the sound of Jack's voice. Find some way to contact him._

The rock in his torn pile of clothing weighed on him. Weighed on him? How could a rock get in there? Deavers had tossed the clothing to the side of the clearing. Rocks generally don't get up and seek shelter in trouser linings, at least not on Earth.

Not a rock. His cell phone.

Just as quickly, his spirits sank. So close, and yet so far. There was no way that Daniel would be able to manipulate the tiny buttons, even with speed dial. He couldn't feel his hands, let alone his fingers, and with them tied behind his back he couldn't see to compensate. And, realistically, here in the mountains the chances of poor reception were pretty good. Daniel's mind flashed onto the ad with the man speaking into his cell phone chanting, 'Can you hear me now?' as he trekked through the swamp but in Daniel's rendition the spokesman's eyes glowed with a Goa'uld-ish light, and giggled as he asked the question.

_Jack, you always said my greatest weapon was my ability to talk. Bet you never thought that I wouldn't be able to use it._

Or could he? Better than waiting for Teknet to rescue his frozen carcass. Daniel began to inch his face over to where the cell phone lay waiting. How many bars did the battery show?

* * *

The cell warbled, and Jack grabbed it. "O'Neill. Find him?"

Silence.

Jack clutched the steering wheel with one hand, knuckles white. "Listen, whoever this is, it's three AM and I am not in the mood for any games—" he broke off. "Daniel?"

"Jack… Ja'…"

"Daniel, where are you?" Jack demanded. He pulled over, almost skidding on the icy roads. Sam flicked the overhead light on in the SUV. Teal'c leaned forward.

"Help…"

"Daniel, where are you?" Jack softened his voice, wheedling. The archeologist was clearly at the end of his rope. "Talk to me, Daniel. What happened? Where are you?"

Hand signals flashed. Carter pulled out her own cell, punching in a number she knew by heart. "General Hammond, we've got him on Colonel O'Neill's cell phone."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know, sir. Colonel O'Neill is trying to get him to talk. He sounds pretty bad, sir."

"I'll get choppers in the air, major, and satellite triangulation. Hammond out."

Sam turned back to Jack and nodded. He acknowledged her input, not stopping what he was doing. "I need you to tell me where you are, Daniel, so I can come get you. What do you see?"

"Cold."

"That's good, Daniel. You're cold. Are you outside?"

"Yes." It took too long for Daniel to answer.

"Daniel, you have to get out of the cold. Can you do that?"

Silence.

"Daniel!" Jack spoke more sharply than he intended. "Daniel, wake up! Is Deavers with you?" _Because I'll kill him if he is_.

"Tek… god…" Jack could barely make out the words.

"Keep talking to me, Daniel." _Did he ever think he would say that particular phrase to Daniel?_ "Tell me what happened."

"Deavers… Tek…"

"Technology?" That didn't make sense. If Deavers wanted to snatch someone who knew Stargate technology he'd've grabbed Carter. O'Neill looked at his second in command in puzzlement but she was just as baffled. "Is there technology where you are? Did Deavers grab you to get the Stargate technology?"

Silence.

"C'mon, Daniel; gotta stay awake. Talk to me, Daniel." _Concussion_, he mouthed at the other two. Teal'c looked impassive, and Sam shook her head. _Hypothermia_, she suggested back. Didn't matter; whatever the cause, they needed to get to him right away if not sooner. "Daniel, talk to me. You said you're outside. Do you know where outside? How far did you travel with Deavers? Are you in the woods? Are there trees where you are? Need a clue, Daniel."

"Trees…"

"How about a cabin, Daniel? Did Deavers take you to his cabin?" Jack waited. "Daniel, talk to me. Is there a cabin there?"

"Cabin…"

"He is not capable of rational thought, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "We must hurry."

Sam was on her own phone. "They've got him, sir! GPS was able to triangulate the origin of the call some ten miles south from here." She listened to the voice on the other end. "General Hammond says that they can guide us there."

Jack shoved his cell into Teal'c's hand. "Keep him talking, Teal'c. Try to find out whatever you can." He hauled the SUV into a 1800 to head south, the tires skidding on the snowy surface.

Teal'c held the cell phone directly in front of him, looking at the tiny image on the screensaver. "We are coming, DanielJackson."

* * *

Teknet observed his First Prime sprawled on the floor and sighed. Deavers was shuddering, his pants down around his ankles. A trickle of blood leaked onto the wooden floor. The Goa'uld straightened his own clothing. "Clean yourself, First Prime, and fetch me sustenance. I hunger."

"Yes…lord…" It was almost a groan. Deavers had to grab the back of a chair to haul himself to his feet; more blood trickled down his leg. He staggered, and pulled up his pants.

"You have pleased me, First Prime. I am sated with pleasures of the flesh. I can now wait for the scribe's training to be completed before taking him to my bed."

"Thank you…lord…" Deavers went to one knee, hissing with discomfort, clutching at himself.

Teknet ignored his First Prime's distress and looked around at his surroundings. "We will move on as soon as the scribe's training is finished," he decided. "I require more room for myself and better furnishings; a private chamber. This world has grown since I ruled it, and I look forward to exploring the advances." He reflected on things best known only to a Goa'uld. "Apophis has fled, and Hathor. Nirti and Ra gone. Bah. They were weak. They called me a minor system lord, but I shall rule Earth, the beginnings of humanity, as they could not. We will see who is weak now!" He frowned. "What are you waiting for, First Prime? Fetch me food!"

"At once, lord." Deavers staggered to the kitchen area, hoping that there would be something in the cupboards that he could serve without too much effort.

Teknet took up his coat, being gracious by not requiring the First Prime to dress him. That favor would stop, he decided, as soon as Teknet acquired more acolytes. He would not rule this world by coddling the inhabitants. They needed to—what was the phrase used these days?—learn who was boss.

"I will see how the scribe is progressing," he told the First Prime. Again, the fool didn't appreciate Teknet's gesture at performing this task himself. Back when Teknet ruled Earth, his people would vie for the honor of serving Teknet in every little detail. Teknet scarcely needed to lift a manicured finger.

Perhaps it was time for a new First Prime. Perhaps the scribe—no, Teknet needed someone better able to fight and this scribe was too pretty to waste on such matters. Very well, Teknet would continue to allow this First Prime to serve him until a better one could be found. But for now, Teknet needed to check on the scribe. The one known as Jackson had knowledge of where Teknet had secreted his devices around the world, details that Teknet had forgotten three thousand years past. Teknet required those devices, therefore he required that Jackson serve him.

'Shopping list' indeed! Teknet made his way outside. Snow had started to fall once again, light flakes dancing on his cheeks. Pleasant, but only for a short while. The scribe should have succumbed to the mind control device by now. Teknet hoped that the man hadn't perished in the cold. That would be tiresome, needing to obtain another specimen from the Cheyenne Mountain simply to control the Stargate. The early stages of conquering a world were always so tedious.

Teknet picked his way to where he'd left the scribe. Hah, the man had crawled back to his clothing, seeking warmth, and he was still breathing; that pleased Teknet. His skin was blue, and he was filthy; he'd picked up matted leaves and debris from the forest floor. If the training was complete from the _tuvatka're_ Teknet would instruct the First Prime to clean the scribe and make him fit for Teknet's presence.

Lovely pale skin. Teknet caressed the chest, tracing the muscles, letting his hands wander down toward the scribe's thighs, listened to the man moan as his only form of resistance to Teknet's intrusion. Teknet had lived among skins of a darker shade for centuries, though he'd heard of lighter-skinned peoples to the north with yellow hair. This must be a descendent of one of those illiterate tribes. The Norsemen had come a long way to have produced this specimen of a scribe. Teknet was pleased with Tau're's appearance. Teknet could demand the usage of this Tau're's flesh whenever he chose, in addition to using him as a scribe.

The man was, however, becoming too cold. The _tuvatka're_ should have completed its purpose; it was time to have the First Prime bring this Daniel Jackson person back inside the cabin. Further exposure might kill him, and all of Teknet's hard work would be wasted. Teknet went to test the Tau're's response to his god.

Then he saw it: a flash of silver amongst the torn clothing. And heard a voice.

"DanielJackson, you must respond. Speak, DanielJackson. Do not allow yourself to fall asleep."

The voice might have been talking to the breeze blowing by, but Teknet understood what had happened. Technology had improved on this worthless planet while he slept for three thousand years, but Teknet had made it a point to catch up. He knew of this talking instrument of the Tau're. He cursed under his breath and threw the cell phone into the woods.

"Scribe," he commanded, "who is your god?"

The whisper wasn't easy to hear, even in the silence of the frozen winter night, but the meaning was clear in the devastating blue eyes: "Go to hell, snake!"

Another curse while Teknet decided on damage control. There was no time to waste. Teknet's enemies were coming for him. Clearly this human was a lost cause. Teknet ripped the _tuvatka're_ from the scribe's forehead, stuffing the device into his coat pocket and jerking out a mewling cry from the naked Tau're. A second look assured him that the man would not live long. Already he was sinking back into a hypothermic lethargy. Too bad. Teknet had looked forward to using the scribe. Well, there would always be another. These Tau're bred like rabbits.

"DanielJackson! What has occurred? DanielJackson!" The cell phone could be heard in the distance, calling out.

Too bad, Teknet mused, walking swiftly away. The scribe would have given Teknet much pleasure, and not just for his mind.


	6. Hear Me 6

"DanielJackson! What has occurred? DanielJackson!"

"Teal'c?" Jack wrestled the car around another curve, taking it too fast for weather conditions.

"DanielJackson cried out, then fell silent."

"Can you tell what happened?"

"I listened closely to the cell phone device, O'Neill, and I believe that I heard footsteps. There was another voice, and only one man walking over snow."

"Deavers," O'Neill snarled, tapping the brake to fishtail around yet another corner.

"Any gunshots?" Sam couldn't help but ask.

"No, nor the sound of any blow." Teal'c hesitated. "How much longer, O'Neill?"

But it was Sam with the answer. "GPS says not more than a mile down this road."

"Assuming the SUV will keep going," Jack grunted. The snow on this back path was deeper, but the higher clearance of the vehicle was helping along with the four wheel drive.

"I will get out and run."

"We go any slower, I'll join you."

"Look, up ahead. Is that the cabin?" Sam pointed.

There were no lights on inside or out, but they could see the dark outlines of a small cabin nestled among the trees. There was a sedan in front, half-covered in newly fallen snow. A cord of wood stood to one side collecting its fair share of white. A small animal scurried in front of the SUV as they pulled to a halt and darted into the safety of the wood pile.

"It looks deserted," Sam said doubtfully. "You think he's in there?"

"No, I don't," Jack said. "Daniel said he was outside. But I damn well think we need to check it out before we trot off into the woods. Teal'c, you're with me. Carter, scout around outside. See what you can find. Don't take any chances, Carter. Deavers big, and smart, and I'm guessing that he's set up a few traps in the area. Go."

Carter ghosted off, a pale shadow in the meager moonlight.

The remaining two scuttled up to the cabin, keeping to the shadows. O'Neill listened; no noise, no talking, no sounds of anyone inside. He wasn't satisfied. He'd been fooled too many times to take a careless chance and right now he couldn't afford to be wrong. He pushed the door open with the butt of his revolver.

Still nothing. O'Neill gestured with his gun: _go_. Teal'c silently slipped inside, crouched and looking. O'Neill slid in behind him.

The place was deserted. There was no one home. O'Neill flicked on the light switch, and was mildly surprised that it worked.

This place was neater than Deavers' apartment, but far more rustic. There were only a few cupboards, the painted wood begging for another coat of paint and a tin can for a coffee pot on top of the tiny cooktop. A stray plate lay in the sink, but nothing near the quantity that Deavers had left behind in his town apartment. Two overstuffed chairs circled the stone fireplace; a stray ember snapped and gave up life, smoke wisping upward both through the chimney and out into the room itself with a pleasant hickory smell. There was a woven rug in front of the fireplace that a small table sat upon, and a single bed in the corner with rumpled sheets. Jack's heart skipped a beat; there was a smear of blood on those sheets. More than a smear; someone had done some serious bleeding, and recently.

"They have not been gone long," Teal'c stated, indicating the still warm coals in the fireplace.

"You got that right." Jack spotted a large and unmoving body just beyond the sofa, and his heart nearly stopped altogether until he saw who it was. _Not Daniel!_ He squatted, felt for a pulse, careful to keep his hand away from the blood and feeling sick at where it seeped from. "Deavers is dead; someone broke his neck. But the body's still warm. And bleeding." _Good. That probably wasn't Daniel's blood on the sheet_.

Teal'c looked, concealing his emotions behind a careful façade. Jack could imagine what was going on in the Jaffa's mind: _this man's death relieves me of the task of killing him for what he has done_. Or, perhaps, the Jaffa felt cheated at not being able to do the deed himself. "We must proceed cautiously to apprehend his killer."

"Killers," Jack added. "Deavers is—was—big. The guy the state police saw was kind of scrawny, not likely to have been able to do this," he said, indicating the mess that had been made of Deavers' body. "There's probably at least two more, maybe three."

"I see no evidence of more than one additional person, O'Neill."

Jack put it to rest. They had more important things. "We'll keep our eyes open. Let's move out." He touched his radio. "Carter? Anything?"

"Not yet, sir. There are boot tracks in the back of the cabin, several sets. Last set is fresh. You?"

"Deavers is here. Dead. His neck's been snapped." He didn't mention the bleeding. The sordid details could wait for the report.

"Daniel?"

"Not in here. We're coming out. We'll join you and see where those tracks go."

"Shall I move ahead, take point? It will save time—"

"No!" O'Neill said, a little too quickly. "Wait for back up, Carter."

"Yes, sir." O'Neill didn't have to be a psychiatrist to recognize the annoyance in her voice: _don't treat me like a girl, sir_.

"Wait for back up, major. That's an order," O'Neill said quietly, adding, "Whoever is out there took down Deavers. Took him down easily, Carter, and I don't want to have to tote more than one of my team members through this snow. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." _As long as you'd tell Teal'c the same thing, sir._

_I would, Carter_. O'Neill took point himself, calling on both rank and Special Ops training to award himself the position. The tracks were easy to follow; neither of the pair who made them was trying to hide. The deeper ones were made by Deavers and judging by the depth of the footprints, Deavers was carrying Daniel. The lighter tracks belonged to a smaller man. Probably the unknown passenger that the policeman saw in town. The small man had to be the one who killed Deavers; he must have taken Deavers by surprise. Deavers was too big and too well trained for any other explanation. Where were the other sets of tracks? This looked like there was only the two plus Daniel. Things weren't adding up.

He stopped short, holding up his hand to halt the others. There, at his feet, was a slender trip wire. It could have easily been missed in the dark until someone had brushed past it. The end, Jack had no doubt, would have been messy. Someone didn't want them getting to Daniel. O'Neill carefully cut the wire; the strands fell away and O'Neill paused only a short moment to look for more wires. Then he moved on. The clean up crew could look for the messy part later and make certain that it didn't take out any innocent hikers. SG-1 had a freezing archeologist to rescue.

The tracks led to a clearing, a clearing with a huddled dark mass at one end. Sam started to move forward, but Jack held her back. Hand signals flashed: _secure the perimeter_. She nodded, moving off in the opposite direction.

Teal'c was next: _watch my six_. Teal'c was already scanning the area, watching and listening. O'Neill crept forward.

"O'Neill!" Teal'c hissed.

O'Neill froze.

"Hold," Teal'c instructed. Moving to the left of O'Neill, he lifted a six inch wide branch and removed a slender wire. Had O'Neill taken one step further, he would have tripped the wire and the branch would have swung down and decapitated him.

"Got another one over here," Carter murmured into the radio. "Disabled, sir."

Damn, but he had a good team.

Daniel was unresponsive by the time Jack reached him. O'Neill's eyes narrowed. Daniel had struggled his way under this pile of rags to try to keep warm. O'Neill's knife came out to cut the ropes that had hog-tied the man into this awkwardly painful position, grateful that Daniel wasn't awake to feel the circulation seep back into his wrists and ankles. If Deavers had done this—the airman was lucky to be dead. Hell, there was a lot of bare flesh under these rags. More than there ought to be. Where were Daniel's clothes? Dammit, they'd left Daniel—

"Perimeter secure, sir. No one in the immediate area." Carter arrived back at his side. "Daniel—Holy Hannah," she breathed. "They tortured him! Is he alive?"

"Not by much. Get a fire going in the cabin, Carter. Teal'c and I'll bring him in. Hurry." Harshly.

"Yes, sir." Carter ran, slipping and sliding on the snow.

"O'Neill?" Teal'c was next at his side.

"Not good. Give me your coat." Jack's own coat was already off and wrapped around Daniel's shoulders. The cold bit deeply through his tee shirt, and he could only imagine how much worse it had been for Daniel. How long had the man been out here, naked and freezing?

"He will die without clothing. We must get him back to the cabin and out of this cold."

"Way ahead of you, Tea—"

Gunshots rang out.

"MajorCarter!" Teal'c sprang up.

Dammit, O'Neill had known that this place wasn't yet secure. They—whoever—were waiting for their chance. He assessed the situation rapidly and made decisions. "Teal'c, give me five, then get Daniel back to cabin. Let me clean it out first." He was going to do that _damn_ fast. "Carter?" He tapped his radio.

Nothing. No answer. Which meant that Carter was down. _Dammit, Carter!_ _Half my team…_

Swearing didn't help, and wasted seconds that Daniel didn't have. No more Mr. Nice Guy. It was time to take these bozos out. Jack looked at Daniel. _Take them out permanently and without delay._ "Keep him safe," he told Teal'c. What he meant was _keep him alive_.

He approached the cabin cautiously, silently, keeping to the bushes, careful not to let any snow fall from the branches to disclose his position. Not even the mice under the leaves of the forest floor could tell that he had passed. The area around the cabin was bare: no fallen bodies with blonde hair covered by a black knitted cap, no signs of a struggle. Someone rustled in the bushes; O'Neill swung to cover them with his revolver.

There was something familiar about the someone. "Carter?"

"Sir?"

"Why the hell didn't you answer your radio?"

For an answer, Sam pointed to her shoulder. O'Neill winced. The bullet had been stopped by her radio, and Carter's arm was paying the price, dangling at her side in an awkwardly painful position and her revolver now in her off hand. Doc Frasier would be picking pieces of plastic and wiring out for a good long time. But Carter was alive. O'Neill needed to make certain that they all stayed that way.

An engine roared. Tires squealed, and there was a crash. O'Neill darted around the perimeter of the cabin in time to see the sedan remove its tailpipe from the SUV's front end and whip down the path toward freedom. O'Neill took a few steps, raised the revolver to eye level before lowering it. The sedan had already disappeared beyond the trees. It was gone.

"Damn." He looked at the SUV. There was a large dent in the front, occasioned by the radiator hanging by a thread. The bumper was a lost cause, lost underneath the vehicle. "Double damn. Carter?"

Carter confirmed his diagnosis. "Your car isn't going anywhere, colonel."

"Call the SGC division of the Triple A, Carter. Tell 'em we need a lift." He tossed a look over his shoulder; Teal'c was coming in, a blue burden in his arms. "Fast."

More orders. "Teal'c, get Daniel onto the bed and under the covers. See if Deavers left any clothing behind and get it onto him. Carter, you see to the fire. Hot as you can get it, then I want you to crawl next to Daniel and rest that arm. Make sure he gets plenty of body heat." _Modesty be damned_.

"And you, sir?"

O'Neill tightened his jacket around his shoulders. "I'm going to make sure that there were only the two of them: Deavers here, and Bad Driver Guy. Keep your side arms at ready; if I'm not back in twenty minutes, hang tight and scream for Baker to get his tail over here."

He turned to leave, but was stopped by Teal'c. "O'Neill. DanielJackson awakens."

Jack hastened to the bed. Daniel was still blue but had achieved a quiet shiver. An improvement, Jack decided. "Daniel?"

"Cccold…" The chattering teeth got in the way of clear speech, but Daniel tried. "Jack… Tek…"

"Tech-what? Technology, Daniel?" That was the third time that Daniel had tried to tell them something about technology. It didn't make sense. "What kind of technology? What did Deavers and his little pals want from you?"

"Not…technology…" Daniel licked his lips.

"Get him something hot," Jack ordered. "Tea, or whatever."

_Coffee?_ Daniel mutely begged.

Jack shook his head. "Tea," he ordered. "No caffeine, Daniel. Try again. Tech what? Technical? Taxonomy?"

"Tectonic?" Sam put in.

Daniel tried again, but this time he used a different word: "Goa'uld."

"What!"

Sam closed her eyes in dismay. "Teknet. The Goa'uld that we missed a few months ago. Woke up out of a sarcophagus in Egypt and disappeared. We never knew where he went, or even what kind of host he took."

"Well, damn." O'Neill rocked back on his heels. "This puts a different light on things."

"At least now we are aware of his current appearance," Teal'c rumbled.

"And what kind of car," Jack added. "A cruddy, beat up, smashed in sedan that my spinster Aunt Gladys wouldn't be caught dead in." He sighed. "And now we know how a single little scrawny guy could snap the neck of a giant like Deavers as though he were made of twigs. By the time Baker gets here that little snake'll be halfway through the next county. Damn."

* * *

"Can you hear me now, DanielJackson?"

"Yes, Teal'c, for the twentieth time, I can hear you just fine. Enough already."

Teal'c frowned. "Is the statement not humorous? I was informed that it would be so. In addition, ColonelO'Neill assured me that 'laughter is the best medicine.' Perhaps I should consult Dr.Frasier as to which 'laughs' are best for Tau're health: a hearty guffaw, a silly giggle, a belly laugh—"

"Jack?" Daniel turned a withering glare on his team commander, his gaze made all the more note-worthy by the dark hollows that still resided under his eyes. The white sheets of the infirmary bed accentuated his pale face, and the various wires and tubes hooked up to this and that kept him tied down. That, and the bulky white bandages that protected his hands from anything and everything up to and including lifting a spoon to his mouth.

"Jello?" Jack asked innocently. "Open wide for the little bitty choo-choo, Danny boy." He popped a spoonful of wriggling blue into the archeologist's mouth, ignoring the expostulations. He turned to Sam. "I'm enjoying this, major. I've finally found a way to shut Daniel up. Stuff his mouth with food when he can't fight back. Loving it," he confided to her, and beamed at Daniel. "Almost as good as Baker coming into that cabin and finding you naked in bed with Carter. Should'a seen his eyes bug out."

"I did see it. Sir," Carter tacked on, the smile on her face entirely false. "It was quite an experience."

"And one that has been told throughout all of Cheyenne Mountain," Teal'c assured her somberly. "MajorCarter, your complexion has turned red. Are you experiencing discomfort?"

Sam looked him straight in the eye. "No."

"Well, I am," Jack announced blithely. "I've never been so cold in all my life. So I've asked General Hammond to assign our next mission to some desert world where it's a hundred and ten in the shade." He pushed another spoonful of jello into the objection starting to come out of Daniel's mouth.

"Can you hear me now, Danny?"

"Mmph."

O'Neill grinned. "I'll take that as three bars of yes."


End file.
